Untitled

“Believe what you want.”  Tobias Kelly has a way of speaking that makes it feel like you’re losing your mind, a way that creates doubt where there should have been none. A gift to him, but a curse to everyone that is forced to deal with him, no doubt. Broad shoulders shrug, as if it makes no difference to the hacker, before sigh is forced from lips. “But don’t come crying to me when you’re wrong, that’s all I’m saying.” @damnaticn​

Shock was a poignant feeling. She wasn’t sure if it was because it seemed her constant request for him to call off his ghost, to stop haunting the halls of the only home she’d ever had in them, in him, or if it was because that voice seemed like it walked right out of a dream. Maeson had them more often than she would have ever admitted to, no confessional worth her pride, to cop to the fact that all her happy endings had once been tied to his name. A deep breath is taken, and for a second she contemplates just not turning around, not humoring the whole thing - walking away like none of it never happened. A glitch in the matrix, but one with teeth, that would come back to rip her apart later, when she was alone with her own thoughts. Sigh was even deeper, head shook. “Don’t.” It’s not a request, she doesn’t have to ask him for shit - after all, she’d asked him not to leave her, and that didn’t exactly work out. It was a command, a hand reaching up to casually pull hair back from her face before legs unfolded, the urge to run resounding loud and clear as it rattled her very bones. “I was here for them, not you.”  Feeling the need to make that clear, before getting to her feet, dusting off imaginary dirt from knees. 

“You know...”  He starts in that tone that practically announces intention to be an absolute....asshole. “It’s not my fault that your tinder account was somehow hacked, you act as if I have the time...” Once again, he’s practically telling on himself by the way that laughter threatens to spill over. “To keep up with the sad state of your dating life, V.”  @discsters​

“i wasn’t expecting you yet.” he was very obviously lying through his teeth, but there was no real surprise there. temptation was a motherfucker, and he definitely encouraged her to walk right into it at every turn. this explained why shirt still hadn’t even been picked, let alone pulled on, and sweatpants slung low on hips, dangerously almost - as he leaned over the bed to pull the sheets in the right direction. “aren’t you usually fucking late or something? you know, if you were a gentleman, you’d look the other way instead of oogling me.” @wrrgod​

the benefit to his lifestyle was that he very rarely had to want for anything, because with a click of a button his bank account would be padded with a few unearned zeros. this explained why he turned, with two almost identical shirts, both boasting a price tag most wouldn’t dream up, before nodding to either one, in turn. “important question, which one? i’m judging the answer.” @melancholaes​

the texas heat wasn’t kind to the notion that someone under federal employment needed to be presentable. today was a rare day he decided to entertain that dress code, a look that suited darkened features almost to spite the way his beard was grown out, and hair was getting entirely too long to be regulation. thankfully, he’d escaped the military regulation on that one, and approached the bar as strong hand was pulled up to loosen the tie around his collar, throat clearing. “you know...”  he mentions, matter of fact to tone that makes it possible for the other to hear the predator’s grin in his tone before ever seeing it. “when i gave you my card, i could have sworn i said it was for business purposes and yet here i am.”  he makes a point of looking around, as if to say where is the fire, without actually saying the words. @ridereblogs​

They say you always find your way home when you need to, and there is no real surprise that, that same desire has led her here. The story is always the same, the broken record of her heart break given a stage that she’s left to take care of. She owes them, after all. At first, it’s on bended knees, clearing off the dirt and debris from passing storms, and eventually, Maeson starts the familiar humming of a tune that she wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for his mother. A family heirloom, for somewhere she didn’t belong, but desperately wanted to. His mother’s favorite song, passed down to what should have been their daughter by desire or maybe just a more wayward want. This time, she doesn’t even huff a sigh as she goes, not allowing place for his memory to catch her off guard, and how wrong she’s about to be. As a matter of fact, she doesn’t even look up when he approaches, legs folding under one another as she comes to sit in front of the gravestone that is proudly labeled with the woman’s name. For once, she’s not begging to call off his ghost, asking to be protected from the waves of emotions that always try to drown her at the mere mention of his name. A deep breath is taken, finishing the song as throat clears. @wrrgod​

Listening to her became increasingly more difficult as she had to swallow the urge to slap the audacity straight from her face. The raised voice, the way she seemed to think she was really making a point, but it was all quite see through in a way. Big, bad Victoria, playing the part she wanted the world to see rather than the damage that was underneath. Maeson knew it all too well, defense and deflection were easier than whatever self reflection people seemed to have bought and sold these days. It was her understanding of this that probably resulted in the simple flex of fingers on the bar top, rather than action that would have really given their audience something to watch. That same hand smoothed across it, an eerie calm settling in her bones before dark eyes flickered. “Talk to me like you appreciate that then, or at the very least, talk to me like you respect me.” She turned and held the gaze of the other for a moment, an intensity passing by that commanded a certain level of seriousness. “Because if you were anyone else..” She doesn’t need to finish the sentence, simply shrugs her shoulders, but the mystery doesn’t live and breath, it doesn’t take root. It’s very obvious what she means, and exactly how she meant it. “Have you killed someone before?” She asks as a follow up question, making it seem simple, as if she’s asking if the other girl likes red or white wine instead of taking lives. For her, it is that simple, but that’s because she was certain her father had raised a monster instead of a little girl. “You’re messy, and emotional, and you act recklessly, but none of that makes you a killer, so don’t sit here and tell me what I did or didn’t believe. I believed in you.” Now she points a finger. “And I always will, even on the days you don’t. So trust me, don’t trust me, it doesn’t matter. I’m going to be here, we’re going to figure this shit out once and for all.”

A curt nod was all the further effort she’d waste on this entire thing. Looking at him for too long dragged up too many emotions. Some of them were almost close to understanding, while others were flashbacks, pieces of memories where she’d seen other members die for less than his current list of offenses. “That’s all.” It was tempting to dismiss him physically, to wave her hand to be rid of him, but she didn’t. Instead, curve of hip found counter, and arms crossed over her chest as if to say she’d wait to physically see him leave.

Jazz had been his mother’s soft spot, even when his father had ran even further into his own delusions. She’d insisted on humming the tunes from the old record player, the same one that sat on the desk behind him now. He lifted his head up, brighter eyes dancing across her form, a simple once over to assess whatever threat he assumed there may have been, before a simple shrug. “I guess you could say it’s an old soul thing, are you a fan?” Questioned, as head dipped back down, eyes running over the sleek steel of the weapon he was cleaning.

He scoffed openly at the request to not use a name that still held so much emotion that it was a wonder it didn’t make his voice shake. It was impressive he’d learned to compartmentalize to that great an effort, considering his history was so tangled with hers that it was hard to tell where she ended and where he began. His own bright blues danced over her, having done away with the need to avoid looking. Perhaps he was comforted by his own torture, protecting their memories with mountains of mutual hurt, instead of letting them go all together. Looking at her told him a thousand things he didn’t want to know. Monroe St Thomas still knew her better than he knew himself, on any given day. It didn’t matter that today was about him, when concerns easily bubbled in his chest. It was what made him ache, what woke him up in the middle of the night. It was nightmares of their parting, waking up to their truth - the fact that never again would he be able to have her as he once had. It was like ripping the framework from the foundation and then demanding the house still stand. When she reached out, he shook his head before hand skipped hers. Instead, feet fell forward, arms wrapping around smaller frame to pull her in. He wasn’t sure if he needed it or she did, but it was there. Coming home felt like this, he was sure. Monroe probably held her too tight in the silent,chin resting on the top of her head, breathing in her memory. “Just shut up.” He managed, eyes closed, and sigh that followed was hard to place, somewhere between wistful and contented. 

The statement is a bold one, one that is equally as full of expectation and innuendo as his own had been. It causes a rouge wonder to how many times a day Ches repeats the same pattern, the same dance, before it gets tiring. Regardless, he cracks an even wider grin, all boyish and suggestion, paired perfectly with darker laughter. “You’ll come more than once if you’re lucky.” He muses casually before switching the subjects. “Please, I could suggest the bathroom right now and you’d be there with bells on.” He calls the bluff before taking another sip. “But, don’t misjudge the simple things. They are worth it, sometimes.”

“Oh come on, back from the dead? I can only assume zombies have no tolerance for alcohol.” She grins playfully, it’s easier to jest between the two of them rather than dwell on appreciation that has always been there in one way or another. It’s better silent, better hidden behind actions than stumbled over with words. Bria wasn’t quite sure when she’d made the decision, when she had decided that Camilla was one of the good things in her life, but it was a decision that hasn’t disappointed. She took the glass, raising it silently before agreeing. “Hear hear, I guess I do trust this bitch.” A nod of agreement before the vodka tossed back, a more than healthy swig taken as she pushes herself up on the counter opposite the chair the ex president takes. “You say that as if I have enough other friends to actually hear the gossip.” She scoffs, eyes rolling before leaning back against the cupboards. “Same old, same old, unless of course you’d like to hear about the slight run in I may have had the other week, or about my version of a really fucked up happy ending.” Bria shook her head, cringing as she recalled her own wrongdoing, but if there was gossip - the windswept story of her and Theo would certainly count toward that pot.

Mateo needed the distraction, and if that distraction happened to help him get a little but closer to the information he needed? Well, that was purely coincidence. Whatever the reason, that didn’t matter, because her sage accusation caused an easy grin on his part. Laughter filtered through, head even shaking to play into it all. “Truth he told.” He leans in as if they are about to exchange a secret. “I, too, needed the excuse not to drink alone.” Grin is flashed, before he’s picking up the dart to toss it almost aimlessly toward the board.

What it is, is, unfair. Mateo is playing a game he absolutely cannot win. There is no way to balance the delicate sweetness of the little girl he’s already allowed himself to fall for. He’d been wrapped around her little finger from the first day Lucas had introduced them. Lucas was another poignant point in that, taking them as they should be: a package deal. He found himself entirely too wrapped up in the beauty of the other man, in the way that his smile seemed to light up the dark. The thought of the other shoe dropping, the truth shining through, is pushed away. Instead, he focuses on the compliment, adding an imaginary hair flip. “Oh absolutely, the little lady.” He pauses to give proper attention to the girl, poking a finger at her nose before laughing. “Would never steer me wrong.” There is an enthusiastic nod when its suggested she has a future in art, and laughter at the clear choice to be made. Scooping her up, he holds her up in the air for a moment, only furthering the giggles before a dramatic kiss to the forehead. “See, she has impeccable taste.” He announces, laughing still, before turning back to Lucas. “Do you?” It’s a selfish question, but he always wants to hear the answer.