TAKE ME BACK TO EDEN.

he notices the way the case is held before anything else. not casually. not like luggage. both arms around it despite the weight, as if something inside might still bruise further if shifted wrong. his expression softens almost immediately.

“yeah,” he says, already moving out from behind the counter. “we do.”

leon studies instruments the same way other people study anatomy, and people not all that differently. not through expressions first, but tension. posture. the way someone carries weight when they’re afraid to move it wrong. the cello case is held too carefully to just be expensive. the question itself gives more away than the man’s face does.

“can i look?” his hands hover briefly near the case instead of touching it outright, waiting for permission first. “we can take a look before worrying too much,” he says. “sometimes the damage looks worse than it actually is.”

The pieces of a broken heart could be tended to, or so he aspired — it wasn't a matter of the heart but the passion stored inside of it. For every members of the philharmonic, an instrument was practically an extension of oneself. Another phantom limb that grew and fortified from the creation of melody, and freedom from what restrained inhibitions.

There were few people who he would, or could, entrust to beholden the key to his beating heart in their hand, and Six Strings Serenade was the only place in the city that he could think of that would regard it with the care that it deserved.

Atticus eased the case onto the counter, another absent glance of grey eyes around the shop — not in distrust, but habitual. He had been taught from birth to enter a room and scan it, to surveil himself for potential threats. Some things didn't shake off so facilely in adulthood. Especially in a fractured state of mind where he couldn't attest that he was thinking clearly, either.

"Ah, yes, please help yourself to it. It was damaged in transit. I have recently taken medical leave and I could not handle it myself, so I'm unsure to what nature it was broken." Other than it was, most certainly, practically dismembered in half. Petite hands lingered on the counter, if withdrawn closer to his chest in futile effort to still the shaking and self-soothe, wringing them together and averting his eyes to gaze at the counter.

She had only just gotten him, her brother. He was the first person who showed her kindness in a way that made her feel seen, feel wanted. He tried to save her, to give her a better life, all without getting anything in return. She had been given so little time with him. She mourned not only the future they had together, but the past that had also been stolen from her. She couldn't blame him for that, though; he hadn't known about her. She felt a small string pulling, as if it were attached to both the front and back of her ribs, tension building till it was hard to breathe. She tried not to be mad at her mother, but part of her was. She had kept Maria hidden from the only family who she felt truly wanted her around because they liked her, not because she offered anything.

Atticus had really gotten the short end of the stick here. He asked out a quiet, polite girl and in return got a sobbing parasite that could barely leave his bed. It took a few days, but she was able to pull herself together to some extent. She didn't do it for herself, but for him. He didn't deserve this; she didn't deserve him.

A nod and a sheepish smile accompanied her 'yes' when he asked her to go out tonight. He deserved some fun, some time to breathe air that wasn't heavy with her grief. She felt as if she had kept him locked in that room with her, suffocated him in wild fits that woke her from her nightmares. She would be good tonight, she would try, if not pretend, to have fun.

The air here was as thick as under the covers, but the smell was different; fried dough, spun candy, and an array of perfumes wafted with the crowd. Those were the more pleasant ones, though the animal stalls didn't bother her all too much. It was a nice change of pace, even if it made her feel like an alien.

She watched the lights overhead absently, her eyes drifting from one bulb to another, the stars above lost in the pollution of the event. She found that she missed them, in an odd, vague sort of way. Maybe she would ask Atticus to take her back to the desert to see them soon.

Her eyes refocused as she looked at him, life returning to them in whatever way they did these days. He was beautiful, his soul was pure, he was kind beyond comprehension, and he adored her. She tried to remember that and when she did, she couldn't help the way her eyes softened at the sight.

Maria responded with a small smile, her thumb and index finger pinching around the edge of the dough. "What is wrong with the clown?" She tried to make her tone teasing as she popped the treat in her mouth, eyebrow raising slightly in a manner that looked slightly detached. She would have to try harder. "Mmm." She licked the powder off her lips, her thumb brushing away what remained. "It is messy. But good."

Caring for someone he loved came to him more effortlessly than he had once thought. ( Loved. A word he had not yet said out loud, but had since nested into a corner of his chest where his replacement heart beat to a steadier drum. Waiting patiently for the timing to be right, a moment where her world was not spun upside down of its axis. ) There were times than he was a responsibility too grand for even himself, you see — treasures troves of pill bottles distributed into their weekly set and an energy reserve that was primed for so little. A job like tattooing was the reticent sanctuary from the ambitious realm of music that he had left, and when every ounce of it was poured into an unconventional craft like that of timeless art, it wasn't half as fatiguing. Yet, the minute acts of going through the motions to care for himself were.

To look after someone else was sacrifice in itself, but he could convince himself that if she were coaxed through the motions, he could do the same. Routine found its way into the step that they had skipped from casual partners into having her as practically a live-in girlfriend — he supposed it was practice, and so far, she wasn't bothered by his tossing and turning throughout the night when insomnia would find him instead of sleep, eventually lulled by the cradle of her petite hands pulling him closer, and he would reciprocate such gestures, urging her back into the cocoon of his embrace when she struck from her nightmares in a cold sweat, understanding how the monsters embraced darkness.

Living with him seemed like a foul introductory to things they hadn't spoken about. In the times that she wasn't sopping the pillows with the stages of grief imprinting itself on her heart and soul, however, he sometimes found his pills already sorted out for him, and gradually sharing pieces of the threadbare line determining fiction from reality — those things that fabricated his mind, moreso in the form of voices more than apparitions now that he had found something that worked for him.

There was the instinct to ask if she regretted it, as he'd long figured there wasn't anyone in the world except his siblings who would care to bear that burden of his defective head and heart. Interweaving her into his daily tasks, he prompted her to rise and walk with him when the evenings were not as dry and hot as the daytime, until it got too dark and they turned around on the street of townhouses and returned to the door. Breakfast was brought in bed and dessert was shared on the same spoon. Atticus offered to bathe her, when the two had yet to share anything more intimate than a prolonged kiss; caring for oneself and one's hygiene could be a task enormous when suffocating in the dregs of misery, he knew.

Was it so wrong that part of it was... natural? Like this was always how he and Maria were supposed to be.

"For why are you staring at me?" he asked in his thick French accent, somewhere between bemusement and intrigue reaching his deep voice, as if he didn't often find himself sharing the same gaze of amore. "The clown does not speak and mimes things that are not there," Atticus tried to explain as he carefully tore off another piece from the fried confection, shaking his head, "I don't like to think about the things that are not there, so why does the clown?" In retrospect, his brother would despise the concept far more than he. Dangling another bite of fried and sugared dough above her head encouragingly, he chuckled. "Now you look as sweet as you are." His thumb brushed across the powdered sugar on her lush features this time, smiling at her.

He hummed. “I am not,” he said in return. “I work down the block, and I have been considering going to the pub around the corner for a night cap.” Though, Daveed did not drink, ever. So he might just go for a hot tea. “What are you siblings doing then? That they need posters.”

At this hour? Brows furrowed, unsure of how to take the other's tone. "It's somewhat important. They say that the longer a person is missing, the less likely it is to find them alive. Should I not have haste?" Holding up the missing persons poster for Heejin Mae that was stacked under his arm, Atticus let him get a good look at it before he returned to what he was doing. "Ah, yes, it's a good evening for a night cap, I suppose."

date: may 30. 1997

@pcisxnivys

Briar had been laying low for quite some time now and while she wasn't stupid enough to assume she'd gotten away with her devious deeds, she felt like she was most likely in the clear for now. And even so, she had the Weiss' protection now--right? Still, it didn't stop her from looking over her shoulder wherever she went. She felt like at any moment, someone could pop up from her past and accuse her of something that she did. Though, when she did finally run into someone from her past, it hadn't been at all what she was expecting.

She'd known that Atti was around town. They'd run into each other before. But usually, she liked to keep her distance. It was all too much, thinking that far back into her past. So much had happened since the two had broken up all those years ago, yet she knew that even now, she still had love for Atticus in her heart. She always would. That's why she didn't want to see him.

The evening had been filler of consecutive gaps where he was lookign for something to do, or a clandestine corner to sit in while he waited. The inside of the Dollhouse was clamorous with people, and the musk of body odor, and everyone too close for his liking, but he would have to make do until either Annaki came to find him or Maria was finished with venturing about. People watching was oft a pasttime of his, a reticent individual on the sidelines, preferring to glance at what they were doing and double down on a notion of what was the social norm and what was not. There was an untouched glass at his right hand.

When the brunette approached, he hadn't realized he had been staring at her. It wasn't a conscious decision, nor did he mind that she was there. Their history had been burned through a long time ago, and now what was left were the cinders of a relationship — to be entirely fair, it hadn't matured past infatuation for Atticus. The celloist had seldom gotten past a kiss with a lover. Perhaps not for lack of wanting, but because the connection was not yet there. To him, they were not two sides of the same coin that could align, and regrettably, he would be unsurprised if he had left a wound on her heart for it.

wylder + ??? : may 30, mid - evening @ glitter gulch lounge @boneyardstarters

MOCHI WAS UNCHARACTERISTICALLY TUGGING upon the leash in their hand, just as eager to get home and closer to dinner as Annaki was themself, earning a chuckle falling from their lips as their key fit into the lock and allowed the duo in. "Your food isn't going anywhere, silly boy," they chided, always one to speak aloud to the canine who spent practically every waking moment at their side, grey eyes rounding and large when their head lifted to find an unfamiliar brunette there. They weren't the quickest to reach conclusions but there was only a momental hesitation before glee overtook their expression, hands clasping together in front of them once they had unbuckled her faithful service dog from the leash, dropping it on the counter. "Oh my goodness, are you the pretty girlfriend Atticus keeps telling me all about?" They squealed excited, rising to the balls of her feet and back down multiple times, as if their body was simply at a loss with what to do with the excitement that was budding up inside of them. "I've wanted to meet you ever since you went on your first date and I could tell from the smile on his face when he got home that it went well," they giggled, oblivious to the idea that such a fact would probably humiliate their dear brother, and yet, they were caught in the midst of a tornado of enthusiasm that nothing out of their mouth was sent through a filter, though it rarely was on their best day. "I'm Annaki, his sister. And this is Mochi, one of the best behaved dogs you'll ever meet. Do you have anything against pigs? Because I was going to let Pickles out of his crate, but he can be....a lot." Despite being oblivious to the fact that they were also a lot, the obnoxious piglet made it so obvious, it couldn't be ignored. "He'll probably just follow me to my room, though. I don't want to interrupt your date night--Did he tell you he baked a whole cake?" Their name being spoken with chagrin wasn't new, and yet innocent eyes turned upon her brother when he reentered. "I know how to introduce myself. Mochi, can you sit and offer a paw?" Ever the dutiful pup that he was trained to be, the medium-sized dog sat and raised one foot, as if he was an esteemed gentleman looking to shake hands. "Nothing I wouldn't say in front of you," they promised with a giggle that implied otherwise, offering Atticus the most innocent of smiles, not that they had any intention of embarrassing them regardless. All of their words regarding him were only flowery and complementive in their own mind, even if he could embarrassment in them. "Right, Maria? I've been on my best behavior. And not only because I really do want to try a slice of that cake later." // @bcbymaria

The kiss was returned, her planting one of her own on his face with the same foreign greeting. Nerves twitched at the mention of his sister. She was nervous to meet her, scared of being disliked, of not meeting expectations. She had never met anyone's family before, not officially. The closest experience was the few, short encounters she had with Franco's family, his adopted one. That hadn't been the warmest experience. No one was unkind, but the stark difference in upbringing and status was undeniable.

She nodded, her smile wide, all dimples as she retreated to the kitchen to unpack the bounty of ingredients he brought with her. Zucchini, hazelnuts, mint, garlic, ricotta, she hadn't even placed the bottle of white wine on the counter yet, when the front door opened again.

Tightness pressed at her throat in anticipation, only to be met with an enthusiasm she rarely received. She was pretty; a bright smile that met her eyes, delicate stature, and something there that Maria couldn't quite place, but it reminded her of Atticus.

"I am Maria." She returned the kindness, but her voice still carried a note of timidity as her cheeks bloomed a shade of pink at the compliment, at the implication. 'girlfriend'. It was such a strange term, warm, but felt as if it didn't quite describe her properly.

Words continued to fall from the girl's lips with a speed that made it difficult to keep up. By the time her brain processed one sentence, another was already finished. There was something refreshing in it, though, the knowledge that she wouldn't have to try to hard to maintain conversation. It was a difficult task, a daunting one that Annaki had just soothed the burden of.

"I am very glad I am spoken so well of." She chuckled in embarrassment, probably as much as Atticus was sure to feel momentarily. "It is very nice to meet you, too. I have heard so many things about you."

The pig was of much interest. She had never seen one off of a farm, and even then, only from a distance. "Oh, I do not mind. And yes, we may need help with the cake. I am not sure I can finish it myself." She laughed

Her head whipped back to offer Atticus a reassuring smile before turning back to her very one-sided conversation. She watched the dog for a moment in shock, the gesture looking so odd on an animal that she had to giggle. Very slowly, she knelt down to take the small paw. "It is nice to meet you as well." She offered the greeting curtly.

Nothing I wouldn't say in front of you.

His eyes narrowed as he stood next to his sister, ungraciously nudging an elbow into their ribcage, quipping, "That is no comforting answer." As disarmingly innocuous as her smile was as ever, the blonde had an affinity for embarrassing themselves without realizing it — it didn't exactly coerce his belief that they strung together praises in his name over inadvertently teasing him.

"I am much better at baking than I am at a cooking, so I tend to overdo it," he clarified with an air of apology in his voice, and enthused, "I am welcoming of you taking home leftovers if there is any when we are through, Maria. But, ah, I was not expecting Naki home so early... perhaps, they could help in the kitchen. As long as they don't start feeding the scraps to the house pets." Atticus lowered his voice a little, as if it did anything to deter the blonde standing to his left from hearing it, "She's making my cats pingue."

Maria seemed reasonably content with the initial meeting. He could imagine that meeting a significant other's family was anxiety-inducing, although he had yet to meet the elusive Francisco Vitelli — and to be exact, he was in no hurry to do so. She knew as well as he that social graces were neither of their strongest suits, as they had nothing to peacock in the face of moxie. "I am sure that Annaki has a million more questions to ask, anyway. I swear to shoo her out of the kitchen when the dinner is ready."

Attempting to still her mind by busying her hands with the task of cleaning up after their family dinner, Astrid smiled to herself at the sound of Annaki and Alizka talking and shuffling around upstairs, the sounds of her sisters getting ready for bed acting as a balm for the former ballerina's nerves. But despite her best efforts to put on an unaffected and cool facade in front of her brother, she should have known better than to assume her usual tricks would be enough to fool Atticus this time. Among the quadruplets, the two of them were far too similar to pull the wool over each other's eyes. They had always been the steady pair of hands, twin pillars of stability for their band of colorful (and occasionally troubled) siblings. Though they each had their own struggles, they had shouldered the expectation to keep their family afloat with grace over the years. Still, a girl had her limits. The move out west was supposed to act as a reprieve from their lives in New York, leaving the world of ballet behind her in favor of something that might bring her fulfilment and peace of mind, away from the hyper-competitive world that had begun to eat away at her from the inside out. But the reality of what awaited Astrid in Sin City seemed far worse than she could've ever devised in her darkest nightmares. Not only was there danger lurking around every corner (as she had stumbled across not once, but twice), it also seemed that the ghosts of her past lives seemed determined to hunt her down, no matter where she ended up. Of course Rosalind would track her down here, too. But Astrid had no intentions of seeing her younger sister, at least not any time soon. Not when there was still so much doubt about Ros's involvement in their adopted mother's murder.

Much could pass over the artisan's head without second thought — it would be a foolish lie to insinuate that he was the most attentive of individuals, attention span liable to be stolen away like a common house burglar when he was swept up into the torrent of his own thoughts, disjointed or organized, or consumed by the fractures of his mind to rapport with factual reality. Nevertheless, the best of his efforts were directed toward his siblings, partially at ease with their close proximity to him ever since his heart had given up on him. Without their support, he was dubious that he would have struggled his way through the massive amounts of information and preventative methods and medications that he had to consume to paddle through the altered state of living that he currently found himself in, and there was no going about repaying that — but he would not sit on by while Astrid floundered herself. Darkness was a cloud over the heads of the Pallas-Dexicos family throughout their lives. It was the unseen beast that could not be slain when they left the house that embodied their nightmares, recreating every wall and furnishing and affixing it to the latest idol of stress.

Am I getting bad at hiding it?

The corner of his mouth twitched, imperceptive to the eye of anyone who was untrained in the mannerisms of Atticus's. "Does everyone not say that when there is something that they wish to hide? The more you are convinced that you are adept at it, the more apparent it is to other people..." Addicts oft had the grandiose delusion that they were superior at faking it when they were spiraling further and further into haunted ground; Cyrek was a capable liar under lucid cognizance, and a gauche pickpocket when he couldn't spark two neurons together long enough to effectively plan out how he was going to snag a ludicrously expensive watch off of his younger brother's wrist. Smartassery aside, he padded further into the kitchen, hovering a short distance away, training the grey eyes the set of quadruplets all shared on the kettle that was blooming steam toward the top of the stove, petite hands folded in front of him. "I suppose we have not spoken about how we feel that she's been released early. I am surprised she was able to leave the state. Perhaps a lack of evidence caused everything to fall through, but I did not hear anything of another person being convicted..." Trailing off, he added latently, his voice falling flat, "It would not surprise me that NYC figures if we are out of their hair, it isn't their obligation to tell us anything. I cannot say that I would feel safe with her around our family again."

Was that unfair? There had been a time that they had considered every single one of themselves family under the Moschetti roof. But monsters in sheepskin had so paraded themselves and applauded their skills at rearing the children back in Greece, too, and they were not worth noting. No tears would be shed when they were gone. Funerals would go unattended. A soft breath inhaled, he mused aloud, "Sometimes, I find myself wondering what Eliana would think of where we have ended up." So, happiness had been scarce to find any of them, yet. They weren't bound to find it in the Big Apple, and Sin City was proving fruitless. If anything, Atticus thought that he had abandoned the haven that had rewarded him with a sense of tranquility.

"Non lo so. Alcune persone per strada hanno detto che hanno sparato a Franco. Ho provato ad andare al discorso, ma la zona era bloccata. Nessuno vuole dirmi cosa è successo." She was grateful for the language switch. It was easier and faster. The words left in a rush, blending together through one long breath and another.

There was no hesitation as she stepped through the door, her hands clutching Atticus' bicep for support. She needed it emotionally more than physically, though the state of her body wasn't in much better condition. Her feet carried dirt and probably hepatitis through the doorway. She would need to see a doctor about her feet; the streets were disgusting. That would be a concern for later, though; now, the thought barely crossed her mind enough to be coherent.

"No, no I- I was not there." The reversion back to English must have been triggered by his own distress as he looked at her. She must have been a mess. "I ran I did not know where else to go. I need to know. I need to know if my brother is alive." The sentence ended in a sob as her head hung with exhaustion.

She seemed so frangible in his arms — his heart splintered into a brilliant stardust for her, as if he could take her grief and make it his own, add to the layers that had already accumulated in a hefty demand across the years of weathering the elements. It was as if she was more tender than any instrument handled in his loving care, arms around her and capable of brushing off the inherent disdain for grime and residue that she tracked in on the bottoms of her feet. Hugging her to assuage her despair was second nature, as opposed to his typical plight of preferring to jump into a sea of piranhas than suffer it with the average being.

Atticus hung onto her every word, as he was capable of grasping it and dissolving it into the fluidity of language that he could swallow, a ruck of concerns rushing forth that were smothered down for the sake of pouring his focal into soothing her down to a state of rationale. Reigning back his head and gripping her shoulder in an act of affirmation, he spoke in firm tongues, but not unkindly, "Lo scopriremo insieme. Te lo prometto. Mi prenderò cura di te."