if you see me bleeding, leave me alone, don't want you in my world throwing stones. this glass house isn't yours to call home, so we're done. the game's over, love murder one.
The doorway was darkened by his presence, a thunderstorm rumbling precariously in the distance. Shadows danced along the walls of the entryway from the strikes of lightning, relentless on a night as ominous as what ushered in the arrival. A gasp and heavy, shallow breaths inhaled and exhaled dispersed what little oxygen was preserved in his chest, floundering with no purchase of anything once the door was opened, a hand streaking blood down the white trim of the door. It had been eons since he had seen the horrified visage that loomed above him, and many other circumstances that didn't quite literally include his life hanging in a balance beam would have sent him in the opposite direction. But he didn't have any other choice. "She did it... Amelia... C-call someone. Call the police. Call..." The blurry veil of Dustin's vision fought his grasp on consciousness, as he finally collapsed onto the floor in a heap, cognizance slipping through his fingertips.
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How absolutely and arrantly enamored she was with the photographs of her engagement was incredibly heart-warming, for even as a child, Stella had taken to anger and holding grudges defter than any trills of happiness; by contrast, she was practically a foghorn blaring through the night across the Atlantic when she was spelling out the word fairytale that he wouldn't have previously expected to jump off her tongue, either. "Wow, and you didn't even believe in that kind of stuff when I was babysittin' you. He must really be a keeper," Dustin said, hands sweeping over the bar top in front of him and linking together respectfully, eyes darting back to the stack of pictures that she continued to dote on after his eyes were no longer trained on them, musing sagely, "You really love 'im, huh?" That kind of devotion was uniquely rare, in the rearview window of his life choices ā there were times he had to wonder if it had been founded into his own relationship at all when it turned to silt and slipped through the gaps of his fingers, leaving him to pack up a yellow house he'd outgrown in Bellflower and furniture that he didn't expect he would have any use for other than donating. However, the blonde-highlighted brunette didn't need to be told that what she had discovered from the rubble of her past mistakes was special, and that he was assured of when he ogled the bright lights reflecting in her hazel eyes as she spoke with naught but ecstasy of her certainty. "Good. If you're not goin' into marriage with any apprehensions, then I think you've got nothin' to worry about. I'll wish you all the happiness and good will that you deserve."
The effortless comeuppance of Isabelle into their conversation was not surprising; naturally, the blonde was the first on both of their minds as her big day stretched out its arms to welcome her. Though he hadn't experienced the loss of a sibling, he could comprehend the melancholy echo she must be feeling in pangs, as he had when he wished he had his parents to look to for advice when the sails of his marital bliss strayed into the rockies. "She would be nothing but happy for you, Stella," he said wistfully, doe eyes lifting to search her expression, and tentatively, a hand outstretched to wrap around her forearm, his spindly fingers stiff and unmalleable until he was able to loosen them away and withdraw from her personal bubble after granting her an earnest squeeze, "Don't forget that the people that love you only want what will make you happy. You've found real happiness now. People always think that they have it when it's artificial. Why don't you wear somethin' of hers to your weddin', and it'll feel a little more like she's there with you?" Toying with a napkin at the bar, he dragged the drink he had ordered closer, imbibing generously upon it to avoid any true affliction on his cognizance.
who : @anchoragestarters
where : outside the the anchorage daily diem building
when : february 26th
cap : 3/4
ZELIHA'S TOP PRIORITY WOULD ALWAYS BE THEIR PODCAST. Their friends knew this, the few members of their family they still spoke to knew this, and the joke could be made that the investigator was married to their job and would never wed anyone else as they were so loyally devoted to it above all else. Upset enough with the latest published newspaper, and that stupid Steve on the radio being able to report on the arrest before themselves, they had resorted to extreme, and petty, measures to station outside of the office and intervene anyone who could possibly be going to give a quote to the paper instead of their podcast, the rightful broadcaster of all that was going on in Anchorage, at least in their chocolate hues. When a passerby who looked as if they could have possibly been on their way to entering the office of their enemy appeared, they eagerly pounced, despite the possibility of it being presumptive. "You wouldn't happen to have any opinion on the recent arrest that was announced, would you?" Unlike official avenues of reporting, there was no need for Zeliha to stay partial nor point their questioning in a leading direction. "Crazy we were shown such a sketch for weeks just for it to be her daughter. Do you think the rumors about it being a false arrest could hold any weight?"
"Whoa. Hold your horses." A hand wrapped in the two dogs' leashes raised in surrender, his other palm cupped over the handle of a drink holder which was steadfastly losing grapple with gravity. "I brought coffee. You looked like you've been standin' here a while," he professed, a gradual smile on his face reserved for his son's godparent, and he put the drink holder on the ground between his feet as he tugged the cup out. Presenting it to Zeliha, an ushering breath warding away the steam floating from the cup, he let out of a cough, tugging on the leash to reign Cerberus in. "I don't really know much about the family, Zee. And you know how I feel about Jo, so I'll just keep my lid shut on that one." A frown lingered on his face, looking from side to side as he surveilled his surroundings before plucking free his own cup, which he'd already poured into a no-spill one he'd brought from home, sipping at the straw and permitting the hot liquid to spread through his system and melt a portion of the melancholy he was harping on, seeing his longtime friend leave again, and waiting to be transferred to a new psychiatrist. It sucked. ( And he was normally so optimistic, even if his thoughts maintained a reasonably down-to-earth rationale. ) "I don't know. They must have made up a story. People do that when they don't want to get caught, but the evidence usually doesn't line up. Especially since it doesn't sound like their story was airtight to begin with. Someone leaving blood everywhere isn't a job done well." He definitely shouldn't know that. "Can we go sit somewhere? The sun is nice, but... I'm a little worried I'm gonna fall and crack my head open."
Working in a store meant that Andrea overheard people talking about anything and everything and the one thing that had been on everybody's lips was what was in the news. She had tried to avoid it but it was obvious there was no hiding from it, she only knew bits and pieces but she had a feeling, the more that she heard the more that it fell together. She was standing at a news stand, looking for something that wasn't full of the local news to read when she heard a voice coming from beside her. "Or maybe somebody that they used to call a friend, that was almost like family to that person." She replied, thoughts of what happened at Halloween flashing through her mind, knowing that somebody that cared for her turned out to be somebody who would haunt and hurt her. "I don't think that they would close it down, I'm sure somebody else would step up, who knows, maybe somebody is secretly learning how to become one. Not me, I couldn't run a record store and be a vet, although that does sound like an idea for a show."
Or maybe somebody that they used to call a friend. He sucked in his lower lip, reflecting on the shattered illusion that he once called friendship with Josette. "How can people get so caught up in themselves that they'd... do horrible things? Over something like jealousy? I guess that's something I've just... never understood?" If he wanted to understand it, of course, he probably would have benefited from a course in theology, or behavioral science; studying people had seldom been as interesting to him as the vast galaxies of space, on the other hand, and he couldn't fathom it would captivate his attentions for long. "That's right ā you own the record store, right? I'm Dusty. Sometimes my assistant comes by to pick up the latest for the radio station. That's my place. Howdy," he introduced himself with a buck-toothed grin, extending a crooked hand out to her, "So, you're not going to secretly be a vet anytime soon. What would you do if you didn't run a record store, you think? Know enough about music to start a band or, I don't know, produce?" It was a shy attempt to bring levity to an otherwise dreary topic, even if he'd brought it up ā he could hardly contain how sour his headspace had been, and he was doing his damnedest to crawl out of replaying it like a broken record.
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Well, Sho couldn't say this place hadn't delivered on its weird promises; he'd heard the place had its own share of mysteries but he wasn't exactly expecting a literal murder barely a few weeks into him living here. For better or for worse, it had gotten his attention and, straight off the bat, it seemed like the cops around here were unwilling to lift a finger so he didn't feel too bad about butting in with his own investigations. Not that he would have felt bad anyway, given his estimations of the Police in any place were pretty unfavourable, and the feelings were almost certain to be mutual. Being a total outsider to this town, he had no existing biases pulling him towards any particular theories and he'd yet to settle on much of a lead. Instead, he was determined to turn over any stone he could find. Information was a steep currency and Sho liked to keep his wallet loaded. He'd follow any thread he could and, to start, he'd settled on finding someone who happened to know Josette Leighton, the woman who'd somehow slept through this entire thing despite it having inspired multiple noise complaints from the neighbours.
Sho stopped in the doorway, stamping his feet against the floor to free them of the half-melted clumps of snow lodge in the soles. He wasn't unaccustomed to snow, by any means, but there was far more of it up here than what he'd been used to. Too much of it. Stupid. He threw the door closed behind him and turned to the station's owner with a grin on his face. Pleasant, sure, but still the grin of someone who was planning something. Sho could act as friendly as he liked, and be quite good at it to, but he would always have the look of a schemer written all over him.
āJob application? Oh, no, I'm already quite gainfully employed,ā said Sho, with a casual shrug, even though this wasn't really very true at all. āActually, I was hoping I could ask you a few questions. About recent events? I'm aware how odd that sounds but I'm new in town and honestly pretty...ā He paused to reach for the word he wanted, a frown knitting his brows. āUnnerved? Troubled? I'm sure you can guess.ā
He was a tad surprised by the other's peculiar explanation for his presence in the radio station ā on instinct, he bit into his lower lip and his hands disappeared underneath the table ā it was no act of secrecy as he was taken back, and quickly throwing up his defenses, after years of manipulation by his ex-partner's higher-ups in the entertainment industry and being thrown around by press following his parents' homicides as if he and his siblings were a heap of chewtoys to be passed about. "Oh, I mean... if you're just a resident, I suggest checking out the local newspaper. Or maybe you can call in with one of the journalists. I'm not sure. I really... don't know much more about the murder than the next person." Besides having a personal relationship, and former friendship, and a once-upon-a-time one-night stand with the former therapist in the hot seat, he didn't have any leg to stand on, or stones to throw. It was about as odd, and messy, as the befuddling case he'd lost his parents to. Now alert, he sat upright, the pen falling from his grasp when his dystonia stiffened his fingers and hitting the floor with a dull thud that reverberated through the room as its sole two occupants.
Dustin hadn't realized how... empty it was, without his colleagues, or without... Blue.
A rock lurched to the bottom of his stomach, but he kept the practiced, gummy smile on his face. "Um, why don't you sit for a minute, though? The snow outside looks like it'll let up soon. I have a fresh pot of coffee, if you're thirsty." Southern hospitality was one facet he would disallow to wither under the glare of inhumanity, anyway. Scooting the chair back, earning a gentle woof from his Australian shepherd, he fished underneath the desk for any sign of the pen. When he came back up, the astronomer thought himself lucky he hadn't sailed teeth-first into the carpet in front of the stranger. That would've been embarrassing.
"I THOUGHT THAT WAS JUST A RUMOR," Her wide eyes crinkled when such a video was mentioned, so much happening in the small town since the last she heard of it that Dorothy couldn't recall it came from an official report like the news or was being passed around the gym she regularly attended in whispers. As the oldest of the family called her out on her preferences, her shoulders shrugged in a bit of noncommittal answer. "I don't really think so? But don't they say when you're already worried or scared that that's why people like horror, 'cause it gives you something to be afraid of instead of what you're actually afraid of." Wherever she recalled that theory from wasn't at the tip of her tongue, either, and as she recounted it, she lost any confidence in it actually holding credibility as, like most ideas, it sounded even stupider when spoken aloud in her voice. "Sounds pretty fun that you guys get to have so many sleepovers all the time. I wish Val and I could do that, but I think the carnival wouldn't like it if we were up all night before show or practice days." Alas, that was the price to pay in the career of performers, especially going into the business with family. Legs carrying her towards the comedy section, they stopped short until Dusty was following along with. "I guess I could go for something funny. Isn't that one of your favorites? You can join in on my movie night, if you want. Then we can go get a bunch of snacks after here."
"Let's just say that I found out a few things when there was still internet." An odd feeling rested at the Mariana's trench of his stomach, as if they were being studied through the glass panes of the front of the rental store, and he placed a crooked hand on Dorothy's shoulder, giving a generous squeeze. "Why don't we talk about it more... in the car?" Listening dutifully to his sister's plight, he could perceive the logic in her sentiment, but it didn't add up. "I'm not a philosopher but... movies where the big bad guy is chasin' you 'round with a chainsaw and mowin' people down sounds kinda like what you're afraid of, right? Isn't that runnin' right into it?" Their father always said the best way to face up to something was the run right toward it, rather than away from it, but they had always been a bunch of sore losers when it came to fear factor. The paralysis that he was instilled with emotionally from the fallout of his marriage prevented him from moving forward, too. Was he content with remaining single? Or did he care about returning to the dating pool? Loyally ambling after her, he frowned. Ringmasters could be stringent and caustic, in his experience, and the rest of theirs; carnival work was taken quite seriously. To most of the ringmasters, they were really no more than the equivalent of the exotic animals that they carted around in their respective cars. "Speakin' of circus clowns," other than the haunting echo of their voices in the small store and the pad of his dog's feet on the tiles, the only other evidence of a soul was the husk of a cashier staring listlessly at the box television wedged above the counter, "What's the plans for your birthday?" An elbow reamed into her side as he pulled up beside her, picking up the case from the shelf for Uncle Buck and glancing at her. His first instinct was to decline, on account of the piling homework that was derived from progressing his dissertation. "Well..." Another look at her doe eyes, and the astronomer groveled. "Okay, but I can't stay all night, you'll have to call me a cab after."
@anchoragestarters at a local news stand in downtown anchorage, february 10th
Dustin had been following the headlines, at least, from a distance ā and somewhat through his association with Zeliha, their tenuous familial friendship lending his hand to boosting their tread when the podcast hit the radio once the whole world had become... internet-less. ( Really, it was still strange to click-clack at his keyboard, knowing his Word Document could only print shit out without actually going anywhere. ) Still, even his child's godparent wasn't first to the punchline of an incredibly sour joke, the screaming caps staring back at him with the announcement of Rosalind's arrest. "People have been acting so surprised, but it's still statistically proven that crimes like this come from loved ones. Like family of a significant other," he commented morosely to the company beside him, sounding his thoughts outside the realm of his own head. "We just don't know what goes on behind closed doors." Perhaps, the irony of those statistics were the same reason that he pondered often over the culprits of his parents' double homicide. Someone out there was an ordinary face among the crowd, unbeknownst to anyone for their sins. He turned a blind eye, decidedly, on what that said about himself. "Do you think they'll close down the practice, or look for someone else to be the local veterinarian?"
it had become a common occurrence in addisonās life to meander his way to duck-youngās abode, he practically lived there. it wasnāt unexpected for his older sibling... or so he hoped; he had started to feel like an inconvenience, but that was the pesky little thought in the back of his mind. how dare it think that way? they wouldnāt dare be out and about for the majority of the day; he wasnāt willing to take that risk either. heād long forgotten he was watching Deep Space Nine after taking countlessāfive, to be exactālooks at the gap between the window and the curtain. when dustin reassured him that nothing was out there, addy was tight-lipped and didnāt react, but most likely didnāt hear his brother. from a young age, he had taught himself to tune out the rest of the world. forget that his hearing wasnāt the best, but PARANOIA had started to consume him slowly but surely. āthatās not all too convincing if weāre being honest. saying think doesnāt really help.ā he mumbled, starting to pick at his earāa habit he picked up after that dreadful night when he was six. it wasnāt the only habit he had picked up though. if it wasnāt for dustin to keep him somewhat balancedā¦ heād be lost; if addison didnāt feel that on a daily basis already. he perked up at the mention of funyuns. āsteakhouse funyuns are a thing? if so, yes. thank you very much.ā addy kindly snatched up the bag of chips, and comfortably nestled against his brotherās side again, trying to get the last of what was left (which he didnāt mind). the pesky petrifying thoughts never leaving him alone for a second, addison blurted out an unexpected question to keep his mind off of the recent killing. ādo you have pictures of mom and dad?ā
Dustin didn't mind the frequent company of his siblings; actually, he hadn't taken notice of the loneliness that had burrowed its way inside of him and festered a giant hole within until he saw his siblings more. Watching Dorothy and Valerie toss each other around at the circus wrought a nostalgia flowering that made him long for days long gone, where the four of them would curl up around the bonfire with their hot meal after the suppertime bell and chat about everything and nothing. Childhood was a simpler time, and it went by too amply for his liking after their parents were gone. Having a baby of his own practically made him miss out on their growing up, especially when his sister had signed to an entertainment agency. In the wake of a divorce, he wished things were different ā had turned out differently. Much as he'd never regret Starfox, or Crash happily sucking on a frozen teething ring in his lap, and the separation from Sera had eventually become mutually amicable, there was an ilk of regret espoused. It felt like he had partially failed and fallen on his face, and now he was figuring out how to stand on his own two feet again. ( More to the point, he shouldn't really be living alone; he suspected that was why Renata spent a gross amount of time flapping around him, more than she had to chase after his toddler, these days. ) "The only thing out there's a Yeti and some shapeshifters," he poked a finger into his younger brother's side, "And if you keep looking out the window, one of 'em is gonna come right up to it and you're gonna find 'em playin' peekaboo with you when you get up to use my icemaker at midnight." Spindly, crooked fingers latched onto Addison's shoulder, mimicking taking a bite out of it, eliciting a gurgle of laughter from Crash and a shriek of, "RAAAWR, dinosaur!!" Close enough.
Surrendering the funyuns over, he lifted Crash and folded his legs underneath him, easing the infant in between them before the temporary loss of muscle tone sent him flopping back against the cushions. Huffing up at the ceiling and conceding defeat, he stayed put until the vague tingling in his muscles dispersed, pushing himself back up and drawing the infant back into his lap. Ganon and Cerberus were snoozing by the fireside. ( He wasn't really sure what to do about the doberman; he didn't expect Fallon to return anytime soon on business. But he didn't mind the additional layer of protection. ) An arm slid around Addison's shoulders easily, hugging his brother against his side and pushing their heads side by side, pausing. The astronomer wasn't necessarily taken back by the question. Surely, anytime misfortune befell another in the loss of life taken at the hands of malevolence, the quadrant of Graves-Seongs were all reminded of their parents. "...Yeah, I bet they're in the boxes I haven't unpacked in here. I kept whatever they had that seemed sentimental. Wedding photos. Our baby pictures with them. You wanna look for them?" he offered, glancing at him, reaching for the no-spill cup to sip from, "Still remember them a little bit? Dori always tells me she doesn't."
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The television clicked away from the second advertisement he had seen that day about the new over-the-counter antidepressant ( or whatever one called what was likely an off-market narcotic ) to the setting for his gaming input, the Nintendo 64 lighting up the screen with a title for Monopoly. "Bad business, isn't it?" Dustin had reserved his suspicions that everything seemed off about the Moschetti case, answers that the public likely wouldn't be getting as to why his former friend was on the scene of the crime. ( Josette had a knack for that, it seemed. Putting herself in a spot. ) "Looks like the biker club's still popping off when I drive by, though. Bad press is good press, no matter where you go," he suggested, alluding to the unyielding traffic of bikers taking shelter from the elements and off the highways at Scaredy Cat. Personally, he'd never been in, except for the occasional metal gig or a review of a concert in the stead of the radio station that included giveaways ā barely legal fighting was not something he was big on, and liquor was a risk he gambled lightly with his anti-seizure medications and his actual antidepressants. Picking up the remote controlled, he glanced at his friend, a slight of a smirk ghosted across his features. "What do you think of the 21st century cure? Or have you actually considered it?" His sprightly voice was without judgement ā truthfully, he couldn't blame anyone for desiring reprieve from the dreariness of the news. It didn't change, just because it was Anchorage as opposed to another city; it was the missing in alarming numbers that appeared to go unnoticed. Uncared for. "I call the top hat."
Huddled in the sofa with his brother nestled against his side, and his infant taking up real estate in his lap, Duck-young's eyes were glued to the late-night programming of Star Trek Deep Space Nine ( a new and inevitably worse Star Trek project had finally relieved him of the conviction that he would be shot in the town square for enjoying the least favored entry into the beloved series ) and scraping the bottom of a bag of Funyuns for the crumbs. Now and then, he would glance in the direction of his younger brother and couldn't help but take notice that the other's eyes were flitting in the direction of a gap in the curtains on one of the windows. "There's nothin' out there, bub," he said after the fifth time he'd picked up on the trepidation that had taken root in Addison's mind, tenably pressing, "I really don't think that the story about a random killin' is all that true, least in this case." Though, he knew as Addison was the only one that really harbored memories of Graves-Seong parents aside from himself, it was hard to shake off the paranoia. It was parasitic, an unrelenting Bogeyman in the back of their closets, waiting for a chance to crawl out and frighten their inner child. Much as he checked the locks on the windows and door three, five, and seven times before heading to bed in the evenings, it was still there. Waiting, lurking, for something justifiable to back it up. "You want the last Funyuns? Steakhouse onion's a pretty good flavor."
@piecedpuzzle at 107.5 black dragon pearl radio station, january 29th
Another late night drumming up the workweek at the radio station. Dustin couldn't say that he minded much; he'd always found catharsis in keeping busy, especially with turmoil rivaling his inner peace and rehashing a wealth of unresolved issues with someone who had arguably driven a stake further into his disintegrating run of a marriage. Doe eyes were darting across papers that he was marking up in red pen for revision, reviewing ideas for Nadine's suggestions of new segments that they could add in between songs and commercial breaks to retain the enjoyment of the audience. The knock at the door surprised him, as it wouldn't have been one of his employees ā he didn't startle too easily, unless he was falling asleep behind his desk, hypervigilant of the minute discrepancies in his surroundings after a lifetime of uncouth incidents that prepared him for the trivial and often pointless cruelties afflicted by a completely random pool of individuals ā and he took a moment to return the cap of his pen before he called out, "Come in." The door to the radio station invited a gush of wintry air in with it, and a few flurries of white flakes. Resituating his glasses against the bridge of his nose with the tip of his index finger, the pen was aimlessly twirled in his fingers. His hyperthymesia could come up with no recollection of the individual who had walked in. "Hi. What can I do for you? Looking for a job application?"
Every time Dusty arrived on the scene, Blue found themself a little surprised. But not in the bad way, the horror way; rather in the kind of way where they wanted to ask oh! what are you doing here? and anticipated a different answer, one that wasn't positive. The crinkling of the brown paper bag, and his dog's feet on the linoleum, combined with the shine of their desk lamp towards their strewn-out dissertation and the scratch of their dying ballpoint pen ā it might have been some kind of sensory hell any other day. But today, when they breathed, and they took in the brief, lingering scent of whatever he wears ( on his throat, or his shampoo, or maybe that kind of I just slept very heavily musk and sweat ) instead of their strong candle ( which kept them awake ) ā well, it was like breathing for the first time all day. It most definitely would be one of the first times they're eating. Their eyes went huge when they looked up. "... Oh. You're here." That was what they said instead of the question. It resonated as though they somewhat expected him. Maybe? "Well. Yes, unfortunately, I have to finish this dissertation on top of grading for classes. I have a small class this year, but they're in an earlier time slot on Tuesdays and ... Fridays." The pause came from realising they just freely gave him their schedule. Hm. That doesn't happen often. "Sleeping is extremely difficult. Not even my full blackout sleep mask or my lavender tea can help. I hope you haven't been having any nightmares." Living life was a nightmare. Their face felt hot. They brushed their knuckles and realised they were flushed. "I - thank you. Yes, merengue is one of my favourites. You better have brought something for yourself; if you're not sleeping, I figure you aren't eating. You need your nutrients to continue studying space, the final frontier." This was a reference they made several times before. They kept with the hand gesture too, and even inflected to mimic the line.
What started out on an unexpected discovery, running into them with flyers in hand detailing a missing godparent, had been heaven sent, or whatever adjacent he could pair with his lifelong passion for astronomy. The past few years had been admittedly lonely; as gregarious as Dustin was, there was hardly any time or pennies to exchange and grind into battery acid to insert himself into social situations. Outside the copacetic circle he'd spanned for himself with a dungeons-and-dragons campaign and old friends, his focus on academics had tended to blindside him to stop and take in the world. But, gradually, he was dipping his toes into the waters and testing them out, as he had been by peeking his head around Blue's doorframe for the past couple of months ā what started out as a thank you for their kindness in search widened its berth. Bringing Ganon into the room without further ado and setting the paper fast food bag on her desk as an extension of an olive branch, he smiled kindly at her ā classmates in undergrad had been an extension of his tenuous schooling, regarding him as a bit of a clown and a misfit, with his gummy grin and doe eyes and a joke up his sleeve. Blue had never bid him to feel quite so self-conscious as other classmates, or eventual professors that admonished his southern roots to lacking refinery. "Stay," he commanded the shepherd, tugging a chair across the room from one of the desks to seat himself in her office. "Hey you," he greeted with an extra dollop of candor, gesturing for them to rifle through the bag first, "Why don't you take a break? The dissertation's not gonna grow legs." Someone should probably tell him that about his own.
Patiently, his thumbs dawdled against one another, as he slumped back in the chair and took pause. Was it a hint of invitation that he heard in their voice? He couldn't be sure. Empathetic as he was, he had his dubiety. "Ahh," he said thoughtfully, his fingers purchasing the pen when they put it down on the desk and toying with the cap thoughtfully before floating the idea, "Then maybe we'll see more of each other. Actually..." No, he didn't have the arrant gallantry for posing such a question yet, so he held his tongue. "Well, I don't have classes on Fridays anymore." Dustin bit on his lower lip. Sharing the perils of his inner workings was never profitable for him in the past. "I think I have a very... rich imagination, I wish it stuck to nightmares," he said after a beat, recalling Liliana's instruct that he needn't be ashamed of those, grabbing onto his thoughts and letting them fly away. It was easier said than done. "The key lime's mine," he told Blue with a chuckle, mimicking the hand signal back to them, "I'll swear my allegiance to the Enterprise on this one. I took a guess on what flavor you're still into. I've only misremembered something once, though, prove me wrong if you must." Doe eyes fixed on their face as he said it, that same gummy grin cheekily reflected back at them as he unzipped his coat to dangle it over the back of the chair. "Can I tell you somethin'? Just the two of us." Discarding the pen on the desk as he looked back to them, thinning the line of his mouth as he contemplated if it were careless. "I think the whole thing... bothers me. I used to know the woman they're lookin' into... We didn't end on good terms. Think it's harsh if... I've got doubts about the whole story?"
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my intros for my clowns will be divided into present-day / fun facts & a background portion. if youāre not interested in reading the background, you can skip it! trigger warnings will be listed before the background portion.
ā *ā¦Ā lee hyukjae. nonbinary androgyne. any pronouns. pansexual demiromantic.Ā ā hey, isnāt thatĀ duck-young ādustin / dustyā graves-seong? i think that theĀ thirty-eight year oldĀ fromĀ aurora, west virginiaĀ works asĀ a radio host for 107.5 black dragon pearl and PhD student, but outside of that people describe them asĀ pulling all-nighters, sitting too close to the television to play video games, attending comic con conventions, the smell of old comic books, mint vinyl, glowstick raves, hot coffee and highlighted study notes, astronomical anomalies, sci-fi classic films, fingers stroking through hair, second chances, dancing dragons, the sound of frogs on the pond. i hear they areĀ absent-minded & monomaniac, but they are also known to beĀ convivial & self-seeking. consider giving them a visit at their home inĀ rabbit creekĀ and get to know why theyāre calledĀ the seyfert galaxy.Ā
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PIN BOARD. / STATS.
AMAB, ANDROGYNOUS-PRESENTING ( OK: any pronouns although he/him is most referred, brother / son but otherwise gender-neutral terms like parent / spouse / partner, NOT OK: father / husband / man / boy / etc )
PRESENT-DAY:
doctorate school takes up a huge amount of his time, enrolled in the university of alaska, and he has to take less courses and a prolonged program due to his neurological disability. he is currently writing his dissertation on dark matter, tying it to evidence of extraterrestrial existence, though heās thinking heās regretting the hard topic
he struggles to write with his dominant hand still, but he manages and defers to using his laptop over handwriting when possible. he is disabledĀ and his functional neurological disorder causes different types of complex partial seizures and occasional dystonic episodes in his hands, and rarely, his feet
after his severe car accident, he has an amblyopic ( lazy ) left eye and extremely damaged vision in said eye. glasses or contacts, always. his left eye lost pigmentation due to the internal bleeding, and appears very light colored as a result. he also has a titanium plate keeping his skull together, so microwaves and cold weather cause headaches at times. itās meant to help with the brain inflammation that FND intermittently causes
a geek and a hardcore metalhead. he knows a lot about the different sub-genres of metal and one of his favorites is mudvayne. love for the genre worked out when he decided to form a radio station
his big goal in the past was to work on the space station, but due to his accident, he no longer meets physical requirements. radio hosting is not his ultimate passion, but heās content producing segments about space here and there, and hopes to move into research or mission control for NASA
all that said, heās extremely friendly and social as a former circus act. being an empath, heās naturally kind-hearted, but he tries not to pry nor point out if he has the intuit that someone might be lying to him or if he senses negativity. heās good at staying composed, despite this, so it can be terrifying to actually see him angry, being happy-go-lucky
please do not touch his baja blasts
BACKGROUND!
TRIGGER WARNINGS: murder, burglary, major injury & car accident, death, child loss, robbery
happy beginnings build happy children and dustinās childhood was largely normal with little to really speak of out of the ordinary, raised alongside his baby brother and sisters, whose biological parents were part of the circus
when he was fourteen, a subsequent home invasion when they werenāt traveling as carneys tore apart their family and ended the lives of their parents, as well as leaving his brother with permanent physical wounds. the loss was devastating, especially as witness to the entire thing and trying to shelter his younger siblings, and seeing his family tormented and killed mercilessly daunted his mind
with no other living relatives in good health, the circus family continued treating the children as their own and encouraged self-expression and finding their niche among the circus and he excelled in trapeze with his baby sister
to distract himself, dustin excelled through homeschooling and advanced in sciences and math courses. ranking in the science fair nationally granted him a full-ride scholarship offer to the university of los angeles, where he chose to pursue a degree in astronomy sciences with his love for all things space and science fiction
at twenty-one in his junior year of college, he met sera park through a dating show ( functioning similarly to love is blind ) in 2008. the couple became engaged without seeing one another and their chemistry flourished further after, and they prepared for their wedding knowing each other for only a month
during their wedding planning, they learned they were expecting parents and once married, the young couple chose to live in bellflower outside of the city. before long, their son jungwoon was born and dustin chose to take a gap year from college before his senior year
during the summer of 2009, he was involved in a severe car accident where his car was completely totaled and he nearly lost his life. he spectacularly recovered after several grueling surgeries, but his right, dominant hand was completely crushed in the accident and shattered several bones and while it did heal, it didnāt heal entirely. he also sustained significant brain trauma with was diagnosed as a cause for his functional neurologic disorder
when he was ready, he returned to complete his senior year and secured his first job after graduation in his career path to begin gaining experience, focusing the majority of his time and energy outside of work on his family and raising his son whilst sera tried to flourish their career in a pop-metal band
in 2015, their marriage was shattered. little to dustinās knowledge, blackmail and horrors behind the scene of the music industry caused their son to develop severe illness, and jungwoon withered away. their relationship had been on the rocks with seraās burgeoning attraction to drugs and alcohol, and their romance fizzled out for some time following the passing of their son
grief-stricken and developing a rift, they separated and dustin moved out to pursue his masterās degree in an extended three-year program to manage his mental health and disabilities
moving on from one another, it seemed, was not in the cards and the midst of their separation produced a baby boy that was born in late 2020. they decided to give their marriage another try, but it didn't work out through a wealth of marriage and grief counseling. a divorce was eventually agreed upon and finalized. at the moment, dusty has full custody of his son, tyche 'crash' graves-seong
the tenuous stretch of rekindling romance led to a secret double life that included striking down the business executives responsible for their firstborn son's death and a series of bank robberies. the fear of being caught has followed him relentlessly, haunting him like a ghost, since moving to anchorage. cities are much more apathetic to crime than a sleepy small town
where : slashback video rentals
when : january 23rd
who : @anchoragestarters
WITH EACH AND EVERY NEW MYSTERY THAT ENVELOPED the town, Dorothy's already oversized and excessively worked nerves would grow, unable to stop herself from allowing the details reported on the nightly news to creep into her everyday thoughts until they warped into something even more spine-chilling. The words beast of a man had found a way of rewinding over in her head, and wandering into the movie rental store in search of a distraction in the shape of a VHS was a direct result. Twirling a lock of red hair around her finger as her eyes perused the options, a grimace crossed her expression when they landed on Ginger Snaps and her gaze quickly averted to the next person closest. "Not exactly the best time for a werewolf movie, is it? Or maybe any type of horror one..." The grimace on her face was then a product of how embarrassing she found her own words, as it could only be her self criticism over her social skills that could successfully divert her focus. Taking advantage of the attention she had already gathered, she asked, "Can you recommend a good movie? Maybe one that really pulls you so you can't think about anything else?"
"Better or worse than a snuff about a real Anchorage murder?" Duck-young didn't typically throw around dry humor, and in truth, it was half-serious as he sidled up to his baby sister, hands tucked into his pockets and surveilling the options that lined the shelves, the Australian shepherd service dog obediently taking a seat. Horror was never his schtick, in spite of the macabre that had weaved through his personal life like a pestilent genus of weeds. "Dori, do you even like horror? Addy pisses their pants and stays at my place when the wind blows wrong. We're practically roommates again." Perhaps, it was not the worst thought one could dream up; Dustin frequently forgot to take his pills and wash the dishes or feed himself when he was by his lonesome, and regressing to a bachelor state was never really where he saw his life once a special someone was in it. How naĆÆve of him. "Um." Honestly? His brain was full of a swashbuckle of floating seminars and lecture notes, a wasteland disregarding filmography, for the moment. It took him a good sixty seconds of standing with a blank expression of his face ( which did, for about ten of those seconds, transmute an absence seizure near imperceptible except for the unfocused look in his eyes, ) before pointing toward the comedy section. "Uncle Buck? Feeling anything funny tonight?"
