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one thing that oluwande missed about living in europe was his access to wine. his uncle's wine cellar took up nearly four hundred square feet, and while he tried always not to be so engulfed by the privileges he was afforded, wine was one of the few exceptions he made. this is why he finds himself at the royal sip on more friday nights than not. he was meant to be meeting a friend there tonight, but just as he pulled into the parking lot, he got a simple sorry, can't make it text. he knew he needed better friends, but he thought he would put a fat glass of wine between himself and that thought. and he did just that, keeping quietly to himself at a hightop table, absentmindedly swirling his second glass of wine around the barrel of it's glass, before he noticed someone else sitting alone at their own high top table. given that he'd gotten half way down his second serving, he felt enough confidence to approach them. "hello, uhm," he gave a sheepish wave and a sweet smile, "i seem to have ordered far too much charcuterie for just me. would you care to join me, maybe help me put a bigger dent in it?"
Lorenzo could not have been more grateful for the folks at Zippity. Not only did they always treat him so well, but anytime he went to pick up an order for Hunter, they always made an extra coffee for him. Their coffee was truly the elixir of the gods and when you’re hunched over cadavers all day, that sort of thing can make all the difference. Therefore, it isn’t too much of a surprise that Lorenzo would try to pass on a similar sort of kindness to others.
On a moment where he got to go and eat outside of the workshop (that’s what he calls it…don’t ask), he noticed someone coming to pick up an order. Before they could pay, he cut in and gave the cashier his card. “Their meal is on me! Oh, and make sure to add a coffee in there too, just in case.”
Oluwande hadn't been in town long, but it only took a week or two for Zippity to become a day of his daily routine, especially when it was within walking distance to the office. Today was a particularly lovely day; the sun was bright, the breeze was gentle and cool, and he's finished up his casework early; meaning that after this lovely lunch at Zippity; he was headed home for the weekend. As he approached the counter, met with a familiar face, he gave his signature cheery wave and dimply smile. As he reached for the green pleather wallet in his suit pocket, he heard someone cut in beside him with their own card, and he froze momentarily. A look of pleasant shock flashed across his face as he looked at the other, before being replaced by a toothy grin. "Oh, mate, you did not have to do that," he said to them, "Just when I thought this day couldn't get better, eh? You must let me make this up to you somehow." Olu extends a soft hand to shake, the other hand taking his sunglasses off and hanging them on his shirt collar, "I'm Oluwande. I think I've seen you here, before."
Nick sat alone in his favourite writing spot, surrounded by drunks and cheaply dressed locals as he tried to put words to the page for his next great article. He didn’t know why the vibes of a busy bar were where he felt most comfortable and able to write, but as he sat with the most expensive bottle of wine this place had to offer, he just about managed to think something up to put to his latest masterpiece of words.
But, just as he went to type another line of twisted truths he felt the presence of somebody sit opposite, but Nick didn’t bother to gaze upward from his laptop to see who it was. Too embroiled in what to write and in all honesty not giving much of a shit who had sat down with him, just hoping they weren’t planning on staying long.
“If you’re here to complain about something I wrote, please fuck off, if you’re here to compliment what I wrote or what I’m wearing, thank you, but please fuck off. I’m busy..” he muttered, not even botheing to look up still.
ordinarily, isolda would never step foot in a place like this when it were so busy-- unless she were looking to hook up, of course, something she tried to fit in once... maybe thrice a week, depending on her mood. but tonight was an exception, given that she knew the person she was looking for would be in his usual place, with his usual drink. the second she got him in her sights, she shrugged her oversized blazer off of slender shoulders and draped it over her arm, her baby-pink silk shirt winking against the low bar lights. with her usual over-indulgent confidence, she welcomed herself to the seat across from nick. she couldn't help the way her lips quirked into a bemused smile at the man's words, her head tilting curiously. "oh, come on, nick, that's not a nice way to speak to a dear friend," she responded, her velvety voice dripping with sarcasm. "though i suppose i shouldn't expect much from a friend who would blindly disparage my practice to the entire town that i work in, hm?"
"So what does that mean? Why do you think your dreams are plagueing you with these kinds of visions?" Victoria sat in her chair staring across the empty space at her patient. She'd never admit that she was also having these insane dreams, especially when half the people in town were turning up on her doorstep struggling to sleep.
olu is progeny of each side of the same coin; his mother's side's stoic and careful presence in constant contrast to his father's side's ever-present cheeky smile and dancing shoulders. that being said; neither side of that coin had a great penchant for seeking out therapy. he knew he should've sought it out years ago, but he hadn't quite been pushed over the line until lately-- he'd never really dreamed as a kid at all, letalone dreamt of the same bizarre, far off fantasy life every night in bright technicolor and immense detail. "well," olu took a deep breath, nervously toying with his long, slender fingers, "i suppose i just need someone to tell me i'm not crazy." a breathy chuckle escaped his plump lips, though his attempt to lighten his own tension was ultimately fruitless. "i've been having these... dreams. i never dreamt as a kid, so... i guess i didn't really know they were weird until i dreamt about the same thing for three weeks straight, and uh... i guess i figured, that's not normal, eh?" olu scratched a nervous itch on his nose, avoiding looking at the good doctor's expression; terrified to find judgement written in it. "anyway, it's... made it impossible to sleep, lately. a friend told me about your work, and... i thought it couldn't hurt, right? so, here i am."
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starter for: [ closed ] @tinxmxn
location: the rabbit hole
tw: drinking/alcohol, mentions of sex
indulgence came in small, highly controlled doses in the life of dr. isolda pear, and there were only three consistent indulgences that she counts on regularly: her nightly ritual of red wine & a sleeping pill, throwing thousands of dollars a month into her wardrobe, and, of course, sex. she usually had more than one fling going on at a time, just to keep things fresh and consistent, and each of them would always remain at arm's length-- a precaution she'd learned to take long ago, lest either of them catch feelings. tonight was no different than any other night she would spend looking for a hookup-- she hadn't exactly had trouble in that department, anyway, so why mess with perfection? she'd put on her favorite new little-black-dress; a slim, spaghetti-strapped thing that stopped just above the knee, but dipped nearly down to her hips in the back, and made a distinctive V shape in the front, all the way down between her breasts. her shoes were sleek black red-bottoms, unscuffed, and her hair fell just over her shoulders in their natural glistening obsidian curls. it was what she would call modestly slutty, just how she liked it. as she entered the bar, isolda had no intention of drawing any more attention to herself than her outfit & general appearance already would. she simply stepped inside and let the click-clack of her heels to the work as she sauntered over to the bar and welcomed herself to a seat next to a young, handsome thing. "tincup and soda, with ice," she told the bartender in a firm but calm voice, sliding her card across the bar and flashing a confident grin. after they took her card to start a tab and walked away to make her drink, she slapped her clutch down on the marble bartop a little harder than she needed to, and spared a glance at her bar-neighbor, giving him a quick once-over. "in my experience, sitting at the bar alone is usually accompanied by the need to get drunk," she tells him, sly grin appearing on her ruby-colored lips, then; "mind if i join you?"
╰ cisfemale , she/her ☆ 𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 … we’re introduced to ISOLDA PEAR , the 46 years old PSYCHIATRY PROFESSOR & PSYCHIATRIST at THE M. ERLIN COLLEGIATE INSTITUTE from enchanted falls who bears a striking resemblance to SANDRA OH. the whispers in the wind tells us of their INTELLIGENCE and INTIMIDATING reputation, that’s why the townsfolk often are reminded of sterile homes; lined with books and cloaked in silence, beautiful yet untouchable red rose bushes, elbow patches on stiff suede jackets, red wine spilled on pristine white couches, & the sound of heavy heels clicking stridently against harlequin marble floors. they are often haunted by dreams of a life lived as THE QUEEN OF HEARTS ( ALICE IN WONDERLAND ).
tw: mention of sleeping pills & alcohol
In her dreams, Isolda sits on a velvet throne, being fed fat green grapes right off of the vine, and taking her agonizingly sweet time deciding whose head will next adorn the pikes at her castle gates. She orders weak-willed men to dye the roses brighter shades of red, and plays croquet for hours on her striking green lawn as everyone lets her win and praises her relentlessly. And, most importantly, she doesn’t have to listen to anyone talk. Ordinarily, this would bore Isolda to tears; she is addicted to a challenge, after all– but in her dreams, the taste of total control is… euphoric. It’s a feeling she can’t help but chase. Lately, however, a little blonde menace has been popping up in the same repetitive dreams she’s been having for years, buzzing around like a fly in her ear. She spoils her plans, distracts her henchmen, and Isolda swears that she can hear her awful, piercing squeals of joy in the middle of the forest, all the way from her castle. It’s sickening, and it’s all she can do not to glare at every little blonde thing she passes in the Enchanted Falls streets.
When she wakes, Isolda is as rigid as they come. She does pilates like her life depends on it, does an eighteen-step skincare routine, puts lotion on every conceivable surface of her body, eats ¾’s of a banana and a half-cup of yogurt, and dresses in one of 118 tailor-made power suits before rushing to her morning class. Rushing for absolutely no reason, of course, because she always arrives at 7am on the dot, giving her two hours to drink hot lemon and honey water and quietly practice her lecture to herself to prepare for a long day of shouting at a room full of hungover children. Here, she lectures without questions, only stopping to occasionally scold a student for daring to eat in her class, chew gum, whisper to a friend, or walk through the doors after she’s begun her lesson. And then the afternoon rolls around, and every day, without fail, she locks herself in her office from the hours of 1-3, for reasons absolutely no one can suss out. She’s heard rumors that she uses that time to sleep with a faculty member or cry or nap, but she’ll never shed light on that secret.
In the evening, she does her therapy and psychiatry appointments in 54 minute intervals, allowing herself 6 minutes of downtime in between each, in efforts to collect enough composure not to straight up yell at the next soccer mom who comes crying about what she’s read in her daughter’s diary that day. After twenty-ish years in this field, it’s become something of a game to her; whether she’s seeing who is dumb enough to take her advice without question, or if she’s sending a live grenade into a dying marriage, just to see what will happen. Some days, she’s a machine, and some days; she’s just waiting until it’s late enough to crack a bottle of wine, mix it with some self-prescribed sleeping pills, and fall blissfully back into her dream-world, where she has all the control, and none of the responsibilities.
wanted connections to come! ** will repost when they're written <3
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robin blinks a few times, taking a moment to process everything that moonie's just said. losing war with a bread knife is quite the turn of phrase, and definitely not one they've heard before. “ a nick is what a cat gives you when it's in a good mood. that is a full-blown cut, ” they say. their hands are positively littered with both of those, along with half a dozen crescent-shaped bite marks from various critters ( and one or two particularly troublesome children — long story ). they suppress a shudder as she swallows the pills dry, commenting idly, “ you're braver than me, taking those. although i guess when the other option is walking back in ... ” robin would rather die than encounter a situation like that. “ wait. you knead the bread by hand ? tell your boss to get you a stand mixer or something ! ” they exclaim.
"eh, nick, cut, pot-ay-toe po-tah-toe," moonkyun shrugs it off, staunchly committed to pretending that it isn't that big of a deal. it's arguable that she's still coursing with a bit of adrenaline from rushing to sterilize her work station before driving to the hospital with her hand held high over her head, but she's never been one to let others worry about her, and she had no plans on starting now. she can't help but laugh at their squeamishness, and she shakes her head in response. "i think you're confusing bravery with exhaustion. it's so busy in there i'd rather fist-fight a bear than sit in that waiting room, again." with a lofty sigh, moon uses her free hand to push her raven raves out of her face, allowing the spring's cool night breeze to ease her overworked fascial muscles-- her stressed-out face was pinched and tight, and she would no doubt be addled with permanent worry lines within the year. "oh of course i have a stand mixer, yeesh, i couldn't make cookies without it. but when it comes to the final proof i like to have more control. it's not a very glamorous job but i'll be damned if it affects my delicious buns."
As he made his way across the edge of the fountain, the moonlight shining through the trees cast silver streaks across his features and she could finally see him properly now that he was closer. For a moment Hannah was sure her breath would never come back, she had to make a conscious effort to take the next one once she saw his dark eyes.
Even in the dim moonlight, it was impossible to ignore how handsome he was. The way his dark eyebrows framed his face was hypnotizing - it was like something she'd seen in a dream. Though the air was still cold, it was only March after all, she could feel the heat growing up her neck and onto her cheeks as she offered him an awkward smile.
"Me too, I guess," she gave him a little shrug, suddenly aware of her arms and not knowing what to do with them, she stuck her hands into the pockets of her blue flowery dress. "I don't have any coins though, I'm not sure the waterfall wishing gods accept beer bottle lids...I guess we'll find out."
Her breath caught again for a moment as she took another step nearer him, peering through the dark to get a better look at the handsome stranger in the night. "I don't recognise you...do you live in town?"
Having come down here to do something that he wouldn't admit to anyone that he knew, Ede was reluctant to carry on a conversation with a perfect stranger; but there was something eerily familiar about her. Which, he felt mildly uncomfortable about, given that the closer he got, the younger she looked.
"I don't think the gods are picky. I can't imagine they use American currency, either," he teased, pulling a spare quarter from his pocket anyway, and taking a step closer to offer it to her on his open palm. "But, on the off chance that they do, you may as well give 'em a bribe." He found her gorgeous, of course, but it had been a long time since Ede had allowed himself to think of anyone that way. He'd been with his ex on and off for so long that he still caught himself wondering if he was cheating in the middle of carrying out a very rare one-night-stand. Then, he remembers that their marriage ended because of her affair, so it would be good riddance, regardless.
"I do. Haven't been here long, though. Name's Ede," he pulls his hand from his pocket and extends it again to shake hers. "And you? I haven't seen you around, either. Not that I see much outside the flower shop, but. Ya know."
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Hannah had gotten a text from Zeke telling her about the party out near the falls, so of course she was getting dressed up and on her way faster than you could say aperol spritz. When she arrived, she scanned the area for her friend but couldn't spot him anywhere, thankfully it wasn't long before an old school friend handed her a beer and she was pulled into the currents of the party.
An hour or so later, she managed to pull herself away from a riveting conversation about the history of the town and found herself closer to the falls than she'd been in a while, the sounds of the party fading away into the forest. The way the surface of the water shimmered in the moonlight, it made her feel like she was home - despite the fact she couldn't wait to get the hell out of town and see the world. Something about the water drew her closer, and she reached into the pocket of her dress. With no coins to hand, she'd have to settle for the cap of her beer bottle and she closed her eyes, flipping it into the water with a small plink.
Turning to get back to the party, she was shocked to see another figure standing by the treeline. He looked somewhat familiar, but she couldn't quite place her finger on it, it didn't help that she couldn't really see him all that well in the dark either.
She called out across the water,
"I thought I was the only one who still made wishes at the falls."
ordinarily, ede wouldn't be caught dead at a party, letalone a party for people he doesn't already know. ordinarily he would've seen young people curling slowly around a drinks table like the hands of a clock and went running for the hills-- but truthfully, he wasn't here to party. unfortunately, there was still a little bit of superstition looming within him; a leftover remnant of his married days, when he used to knock on wood and skip over cracks in the sidewalk. today, he wandered down to the fountain with a pocketfull of pennies, and happened upon a party that he wasn't expecting. but, after a few dragging minutes of consideration; he decided that it didn't matter-- he would do what he came here for.
after nodding politely at passing strangers and pretending that he didn't hear the couple of young girls that approached him all-too-cheerily for a chat, he finally arrived at the fountain. the way that the moon bounced off of the water was enough for him to fall comfortable into a trance, as he focused on the things he came here to wish for. he wished for his ex-stepdaughter to get into her choice college in a few years. he wished for his ex to stop texting him drunken apologies every other saturday night when her daughter was at rowing lock-ins. he wished for his father to stop begging him to move back to london and enter the business. and mostly, he wished for contentment. the flower shop had been so kind to him in recent years, but at some point in recent weeks, it had suddenly become a source of anguish; and he was beginning to panic at the idea of being trapped there for the rest of his life, thinking of nothing but baby's breath and carnations. "i need change. i need something new. something different. i need to be broken of the spell i'm trapped in." he whispered this plea desperately to himself, before flipping a shiny new penny off of his thumb and into the fountain.
it was then that he heard a soft voice from across the fountain. her words caused a blush to creep from the apples of his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and he looked back into the rippling moonlight bouncing off of the ever-moving water.
"ordinarily, you'd be right. needed a little luck tonight, i suppose." ede raised his gaze and nodded politely at the girl across the water, allowing himself to slowly move across the length of the fountain, not feeling like yelling over the rush of the water. "hoping the falls are offering a little extra luck tonight, i suppose."
“ nah, i'm fine, ” robin replies easily, already bending down to assist with gathering up the painkillers. a few stray pills is nothing compared to the scratches they get from particularly feisty animals — usually cats. “ though i gotta say, that bottle seems like overkill for ibuprofen. ” talk about over-engineered ... the damn thing's got a child-proof lid all for a few pills less dangerous than most off-the-shelf medicines. robin's seen less extreme packaging on bleach, for crying out loud. they stand, tipping the dozen or so pills into the now-open bottle. “ can't say i'm an expert in human medicine, but giving someone with an injured hand a hard-to-open container seems kinda dumb if you ask me. ”
a sigh of relief leaves moon's blush lips as the other confirms their wellbeing, and she goes back to searching the dark concrete for little white ovals. "it is it's usual level of overkill," she laments, dropping each pill into the bottle with a tiny *plink* sound, "but my hand fought a losing war with a bread knife, so i think it falls under the child proof criteria. "thank you for your help. i should probably get new ibuprofen, but... am i going to? probably not," she nodes gratefully to them, reaching for the little round lid that rolled a few feet away during the ruckus. "unfortunately, i punished myself with this particular bottle-- bought it over the counter. they offered me a couple pain meds, but it's just a knick." it was four stitches worth of a knick, and her hands are her entire job, but she doesn't need to tell them that. with that, she pops one of the cleaner ibuprofens into her mouth and swallows it dry, before lidding the bottle and taking a few drinks from her hospital water bottle. "kneading the morning bread is going to be hell, isn't it? ugh, god," moonie pouts emphatically, before shaking it off and starting off slowly towards the parking lot, "i guess it can't hurt to know how to do everything with one hand."
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