love is like a ghost

Location: Starfox Roadside Diner @salemstart··

It was one of the rare days that Astrid was actually running a bit early, everything was just going right and after dropping Hannah off to school Astrid realized they actually had plenty of time before having to go into work.  So Astrid decided to stop at the Starfox for a quick breakfast, bringing along some mail to go through at their seat at the front bar.  After ordering Astrid decided to open up the Amazon package first, in it were some of the items she ordered - a couple of books, a spring jacket for Hannah, and some candy to refill her snack drawer at work.  But there was a pair of blue light glasses that Astrid knew she didn’t order.  “Morally speaking, do I have to return something if Amazon is the one who messed up?”  Astrid spoke up as they put on the mysterious glasses, seeing how it looked on them.  “Because I’m honestly loving these glasses.”

Rosie misses having a private chef to cook all her meals for her. Don’t get her wrong, she does like the food she swipes from the casino and brings home, and the omelet she picks at while sitting in a booth at the Starfox Diner is good too. Perhaps she’s just stuck missing her childhood days with all her sisters under one roof where her biggest concern was fleeing from Lottie’s heavy-handed lipstick with screaming laughter.

She still takes any welcome distraction, however; Rosie quickly peeks up from her meager breakfast to look at the glasses they’re sporting. “I...I mean, the right thing would probably be to give it back...but,” She stabs at her eggs. “They’re like, a multi-billion dollar company. I don’t think anyone’ll notice one pair of glasses missing. I say keep them. They do look real cute on you. What brand are they -- can I see?”

— “There are plenty of horrible things about me that would make great talking points,” he replied. “It’s not that far of a leap, Simon.” Gilbert had swindled the fortunes of real people – real people that had to face consequences, no matter how much he believed they deserved it. His gentlemanly code of conduct couldn’t account for collateral damage either. It was inevitable that if he stole from a private museum or collection, an unsuspecting employee on the lowest rungs of the clearance ladder would have their job sacked. It wasn’t glamorous like his heists, but it was reality.

That was all without bringing up the lying, backstabbing behavior that allowed him to reach that point. He’d taken advantage of many people, pretending to be friends and family only to break their hearts when he turned up a fraud. Dressed in his best suit, even a cleaned up Gilbert Gladstone was an ordinary crook. There was plenty of ammunition within Jessica’s reach, should she want to play that game.

“People worry all the time,” he said. “I know you love to hear yourself talk, but how long are you going to dance in circles? You only want to meet me willingly when I’ve been a naughty boy, isn’t that right?” Gilbert took a lick of ice cream like he hadn’t a care in the world. “Are you going to slap cuffs on me or not, Simon?”  

Simon has always made it a point to not get himself involved in the relationships - particularly the romantic relationships - of other people. Asking all too often draws him in and begs him to pick sides. With his own relationships so often a complicated mess that he has enough trouble sorting through, why would he have any interest in attempting to mend the relationships of other people?

Jessica and Gilbert, however, are a particular case in that their relationship, all too often, does impact him. He and Gilbert may as well be metaphorically handcuffed together ( If they were literally handcuffed, Simon would have chewed his own hand off months ago ). Simon folds his hands together in his lap and turns his head to look at Gil face-on rather than watch another gaggle of children chase a soccer ball down the grassy field. “Is that the sort of person you think Jessica is? The sort who plays dirty and holds all your past deeds over your head?” He scoffs. “There’s no way I know more about your...girlfriend more than you do. If I were going to put you back in cuffs, I would have done so already. Don’t you see that’s the point?” Simon pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’d prefer to not haul you back to prison. It’d be...too much paperwork,” He refuses to think that in the time he and Gilbert were stuck together that he’d developed some sort of affection for the man. “But just because I’m not willing to haul you off doesn’t mean anyone above me wouldn’t. There are still plenty of people who would enjoy to see you behind bars and are just waiting for the slightest hint of trouble to toss you away. Do you not...enjoy your freedom?” Simon asks. “Is this really the path you want to walk down again?”

the corkscrew does its dance inside the lips of the bottle– the spiraled end of the tool pulls and pries until the sound makes a loud pop. had he not trusted Simon’s words, Han would have been careful to tuck that wine bottle opener into the front pocket of his loungewear. it would have hidden there safely until he needed to use it in retaliation. instead he finally listens– not to quip back a smart response, nor to fixate on words and meanings. he listens with a reverence and a smile forming on his lips. perhaps there were some parts of his relationship with the other man that were resolved– but would that also mean they could carry on with forgiveness in their hearts? if not hatred and deception, could absolution and that divine admiration he felt for Simon finally churn away that ache and yearning and pain. he pours two glasses of the full-bodied cab from Chile, the notes of black cherry and currant pair well with what Han presumes is beef stock on the stove. 

he finally speaks as he slides Simon’s  glass across the table for him to take, “I agree.” his eyes fall to the crystalized stem as he takes his first sip. he tastes a hint of tobacco as the truth continues to filter out– which he begins to crave as he continues with this honesty. “And you mean that?” there is no inflection at the of his voice– there is no real question posed. he asks for confirmation, but it feels like an affirmation nonetheless. he offers his own,  “Fine.” he corrects the grandiose promises of final expirations and grave endings. “I’ll live for you–“ no,  “Live with you.” he punctuates by setting his wine glass down and placing palms on the table to ground him in his words. “I’ve only wanted the same thing. I’m tired of going through the motions without you, and I’m sorry I gave you any impression otherwise.” this apology dates back to almost a decade ago. “I’m sorry I continue to give you this impression, but it’s not my truth. All I’ve ever wanted was a life with you.” 

the resentment he has for the wedding ring– the wedding aisle he’d watched her walk down– the alter he stood upon next to that man he had not only respected but attached himself to so deeply. the anger was the better emotion he could latch onto. repressing the endless pain it’d caused was not easier than pretending. it made him a monster– it ultimately pushed him away, and yet– to his direct contrast, there was Simon. despite others attempts in separating them, gravitational pull would prevail. “You punished me first,” he explains, “And yes, I wanted to get even, and for my efforts I should perhaps rot alone, but with you–” he wonders of the spoilage and how it would conclude. would their decay fuse to the floorboards of the bedroom floor? which fungi would sprout? would his home smell worse or in love and death is there a sweetness to the twinge? in that eternal rest would hollowed out skeletal arms be able to be made out by archeologists? and in their blight would it be known that they decomposed while wrapped securely around that singular person who made Han feel so festering and irrationally infatuated with? would those who come across their fragmenting end conclude that the were not alone so long as they had each other? would they be just friends in death or could they somewhere in between that passage of time finally admit to that love they shared?

he’s besotted with words, he’s smitten in watching these actions, he’s overcome with emotion in receiving forgiveness. strong eyebrows soften as he slowly nods in his agreement. “I forgive you too.” in saying so, he finally feels a sense of peace.  “Maybe I’ll start forgiving myself as well.” –that would be the harder of feats to accomplish. 

wine-stained lips mock him, or feel mocking as the compliment dangles in their to which Han’s expressions brighten. he tries to cast his smile aside– physically turning away from Simon’s words. knuckles curl to his face to rub at temples as he takes a seat at the table. Once he’s finally come to grips with such a pretty words does he finally speak one of his own. His words are bashful, clumsy, but carefully placed. “It feels like deja vu, doesn’t it?” fingers tap against the wood grain of that table as soup is ladled into a bowl. he can’t remember the last time it was Simon serving him a meal in his own home. “It feels like a memory– an after image that has been plucked from so far away.” he chuckles to himself, hearing the spoon hit ceramic. it echoes in a sweet lull. “But I suppose I’m a little biased. All of my favorite moments are with you.” a firm nod follows, “In fact, I don’t think I”ll ever enjoy another meal for the rest of my life.” 

he takes another whiff around the kitchen– eyes peer into Simon’s as if he’s searching for a hidden clue. he’s not in on the punchline yet. for once, he feels lost, but everything is okay– so long as he trusts and forgives. it feels right. he feels the two souls reconnect once more with a single second of prolonged eye contact. Simon has his full attention, and Simon would forevermore have his attention. “Isn’t it hangover stew–?“ his puzzled tone speaks as if it’s an obvious call. there is a metallic smell in the air that brings fourth this observation– the darkened color adds to this assumption– the smell of salt aids his hypothesis as well. “Isn’t it? It smells familiar– but I don’t remember this recipe…” or rather his nose doesn’t “Have you made this for me before?” he racks the brain for the answer.

“Are you sure you won’t eat with me?” a tiny frown pulls at his lips, “The memory isn’t complete if you aren’t indulging as well.” with the bowl placed in front of him, he can finally see the ingredients– a thickened broth with white radish, green onions and one more ingredient he misses. a counter clockwise stir begins and rounds the ceramic until finally it scoops the first taste into his mouth. tastebuds melt– 

though Simon’s, by far, his favorite cook– there is something in the bowl that tucks away into the depths of Han’s heart to further soothe, and cement the words spoken across the dinner table. the first spoonful is followed by another, and the second hasty spoonful is just as good as the first. a droplet of stew dribbles at his chin– “Am I allowed to ask for your recipe?” though he’s uncertain if he’ll have time to hear these directions at all– his stew is addictive, to say the least. 

In both his working and personal lives, Simon’s opening lips are so often met with groans and rolling eyes. His pessimistic nature, pretentious air, his unprompted opinions and tendency to ramble - particularly in subjects he finds interesting - are justly greeted with signs of discontent. As a result, he keeps to himself. He purses his lips and folds his hands and presses himself against walls to make room for others.

But Han sits. And waits. Not only does he listen, but he smiles, and Simon knows he’s heard.

He knows shattered teacups can never be truly mended; their severed limbs will never return to the same strength they once had, but as Simon takes the second glass of wine for himself, he thinks it’s for the best that not all shards can be glued back together precisely. Going back to staring at Han from across the room? Idle touches and hungry gazes, only to sleep alone each night? Simon doesn’t want that - he’d shatter a hundred more teacups and dinner plates before that. He longs for something not unrecognizable, but not returned to its original state: something new and whole in its own right.

“Live for me. Live with me. Lay by my side and take your last breath with me, when the day inevitably comes,” He imagines his bones bleached white and indistinguishable to Han’s - his rib, Han’s rib; they were one in the same, in the end. “I’m afraid reversing history is not an ability I possess. I can’t forget about the bullet I put in your shoulder. Nor that letter opener you drove into my back. But I don’t want to, either. I can’t keep returning to my quiet home alone night after night. Not when I know your own bed is as empty as mine. Han I want…I want to glue those broken pieces back together. I want something touched by your hand alone. That teacup may not sit the way it used to or hold tea as well as it once did…but it can still be ours…”

Perhaps if he hadn’t been a coward when they’d first met, Simon could have spared them both years worth of heartache, but the risk of losing the single friend he’d managed to grasp onto had left Simon burying even the potential for anything to happen between him and Han deep in his belly until his stomach was so full of poison he’d made himself sick; if Han hadn’t laced his drink with arsenic some months ago, only in due time would Simon have checked himself in the hospital with similar symptoms of nausea and vomiting from the toxic lies he’d swallowed to keep the truth buried.

“I think I punished myself long before I started punishing you. For what, having a friend? For feeling so…” Words fail to define Simon’s feelings for the man who sits to his side in a simple manner. Intense? Infatuation? How could a single word explain how living with Han would never be enough? Language had yet to evolve to the point for Simon to easily say that he couldn’t be satisfied until their skin turned to dirt and became inseparable from one another. When Simon finally takes a sip from the glass Han poured for him, he thinks to all the dinners they shared in the past, where Han must have pressed his own lips to the rim and partaken in a drink. They had shared dozens, if not hundreds, of ghostly kisses before, but this time had been enough. “I made you watch as I pledged my life to another. I nearly watched you do the same, but I believe you’ve always been the true owner of my heart. If doing so didn’t kill me where I sit, I’d show you my own heart as proof,” He looks to the piping soup that remains on the table just in front of Han. “That may not be my heart, but it is just as close and personal to me. I hope it’s a close enough replacement for the real thing.”

Rather than answer Han’s question regarding what is in the contents of the soup, Simon gestures for him to eat before it gets cold. “This is my gift to you. It would hardly be much of a gift if I were to partake in it myself, would it?” Still, Simon does share silent agreement that sitting at the table with Han eating dinner draws back pleasant old memories of sitting begrudgingly side-by-side in the dining hall to work on their class project together over lunch ( they could have sat across from one another, but it at least gave them an excuse for their thighs to touch while still maintaining the false belief of their hatred toward each other ). Not returning to the experience by dining alongside Han is a tad unsettling, but watching the expressions on his face brings a much more satisfactory feeling than Simon eating the meal himself.

“To answer your previous question, yes, it is Haejangguk,” He at last nods once he watches Han’s bulbous adam’s apple bob against his throat. “It’s the only thing my father ever taught me how to prepare, you know. We made it for my mother once, I believe,” He’d still been in high school at the time, but the one time he cooked with his father stands out in his mind. The kitchen had been so silent, save for the water boiling with bones and the knives slicing into radishes. “I’m certain I’ve made it for you before too - it does help with hangovers,” And while Simon still considers himself a stranger to parties and social events, he had an intimate relationship with throbbing headaches and dry mouths the morning after heavy drinking. “I must make one last confession,” He lays a single index finger on the table between them. “I have altered the recipe since those old college days of ours and no, you will not be recreating it; it will be the one secret I take with me to the grave,” His smile returns. “The rest of the pot is, of course, for you to keep and enjoy. But perhaps…” Simon looks to the bits of broth that have clung to the corners of Han’s lips and the savory film of broth made from bones and blood that must have coated the inside of Han’s mouth. “Perhaps you could still offer me a taste…”

CAP ( 0/4 ) !

[ starfox roadside diner. ]

“If you think about it, the concept of Easter celebrations is weirder than Christmas. It’s not just an old guy coming down the chimney, it’s a guy in an Easter bunny costume breaking into your house. Or so you tell your kids.” The co-owner frowned to himself as he peeled the adhesive bunny decorations for the diner’s windows from their sheets. Dustin wasn’t religious, nor did he celebrate any of the month’s religiously-inclined holidays; however, the galactic-themed diner wouldn’t hurt for kid-friendly, cutesy decorations and coloring pages when tourism picked up — maybe throw in a couple different selections for those of different religious backgrounds coming in, otherwise, innocent, furry little spring creatures to color were more or less harmless. Now that he was back on his feet, he was trying to make himself useful outside the radio station and college courses, and naturally chatting up the nearest patron. “And I just think that’s weird. It’s definitely not going to be my son ‘cause it feels like the equivalent of a Ring camera getting hacked and talking to him. Besides, the only good stuff that comes out of Easter chocolate is the robin eggs. Except for that time I swallowed one whole and choked —” Smoothing one of the stickers over the windowpane, he smiled at the pastel pink bunny rabbit cheekily winking to outside patrons. “…But bunnies on their own are kind of cute, right? You know, just in case they… don’t come off the window…”

“I mean...I don’t get it, but I still think it’s really cute,” Rosie nods from the counter. She slowly picks at her basket of fries - Josie and Dollie’s return brought back her own apatite, but worry for their present conditions still managed to keep her belly full. She didn’t do much for Easter, other than jump at the opportunity to buy the Reese’s Eggs ( which seemed to taste so much better than their typical peanut butter cups ), but the upcoming holiday serves as a welcome distraction to the present misfortunes in her life. “I think I’d rather a giant bunny come in my house than a weird old dude...at least bunnies are snuggly, you know?” She shrugs. “I always wanted one as a pet, but when Dollie and I got our own place, I looked into it once, and it’s just way too much work. But a giant bunny that could be like, your cuddle buddy roommate...I’d just let them live with me rent free.”

Taking note of the unsteady shake of his hand, Valerie was tempted to press Simon to get to the bottom of what had him so rattled, but he was having a difficult enough time without any nosy impositions. She was just glad that he had accepted her peace offering. “That makes a lot of sense, actually. I’ve been a loyal Double Stuf girl for years, and I could have sworn they were thinner than usual lately. I thought I had just built up an inhuman tolerance to the extra frosting over time,” she remarked, pulling an Oreo out of the sleeve for herself and taking a bite. 

Nodding in understanding when he revealed that he hadn’t smoked in a week, his irritable demeanor made a lot more sense to the blonde. Although Simon had a tendency to be a grump on the best of days, he wasn’t usually anywhere near this grumpy. Still, Val couldn’t stop herself from grinning back at her friend. “Okay, I know this is probably the worst time to be optimistic. But it’s really great that you’re trying to cut back,” she replied, half expecting him to sneer at her reaction. 

“If you want the original Double Stuf, you have to get the Triple Stuf ones. And, I’m sure in a few years time, they’ll come out with a Double Double Stuf, and they’ll decrease the amount of filling even more,” He doesn’t really care about Oreos or products silently decreasing the amount given to maintain the same prices, but he’d take anything to keep his mind off of the carton in his pocket.

However, Valerie’s continual optimism has him itching to pull the pack back out. “Jesus, I don’t want to hear about that. Blah, blah, health and your lungs and your teeth,” His eyes roll. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve been to medical school. I’ve seen all those commercials about cancer and the side effects. But fuck --” He places an Oreo in his mouth and uses his then free hand to reach into his pocket. “I’d take all that over withdrawal --”

Maia was blinking back her surprise, too stunned to have a witty retort back.  “Wait you seriously can’t narrow it down from that?  Are you serious?  What exactly is your life?”  Maia knew it wasn’t his intention but it was diffusing her anger as she was more bewildered than anything.  Plus she tried not to draw connections to her own life, knowing that if the roles were reversed and someone randomly came up to her she wouldn’t exactly have an easy time placing who was who.

“Well I wasn’t the one who was associated with him.  Well I guess I am…”  Maia trailed off, not knowing how to answer that.  “Listen you just started asking my mother questions and I know she barely gave you anything to go off of but when I started she kicked me out.  Why did you want to know about him anyway?  Surely you had better things to do than come halfway across the world to ask one person who hasn’t seen him in over twenty-four years.”

A brief smile creeps into the corner of Simon’s lips. “Technically, that information is classified and I’m not at liberty to discuss it with a stranger on the street,” Which is, truthfully, Simon’s favorite excuse to not divulge any information that he didn’t feel compelled to. Okay, so maybe only some of it was actually classified, but she didn’t need to know that - and Simon has no interest in rehashing his own past mistakes and failures.

But based on her situation, she doesn’t seem to be one of the mistakes that Simon had taken credit for - when he’d interviewed past known associates of Gilbert Gladstone, it had been that only: work, with his only ulterior motive being his desire to solve the puzzle of the art thief. “Well, I hardly see how that’s my fault. It seems to me that your mother knew more than she wished to let on and didn’t like you poking around either, I was simply doing my job and researching a known criminal,” He muses. “Interesting that you’re halfway across the world, here. Now. I wonder why that is.”

—–

a smile claimed riley’s lips. “finally something interesting,” she replied, grabbing a cocktail shaker and strainer. “it’s been pints from the tap for an hour now,” she told him. admittedly they were much easier than cocktails, but where was the fun in that? riley had always preferred a challenge. she clicked her tongue in thought for a moment before she turned and grabbed various alcohol and mixers.

“hm? oh, yeah, i guess so. it’s early though,” she told him with a chuckle. “but wednesday is a quiet day to be honest,” she added. she began mixing the drink. “charlotte? no, not tonight. it’s just me in charge,” she replied. “i’m the floor manager but we had a last minute sickness so i’m, well, bartended also,” riley told him. she began to shake the cocktail shaker firmly. as she did so, with one hand, the other grabbed a coupe glass. she placed it on the side and scooped some crushed ice out of the ice well and dropped it into the glass to cool it. “why, is it important? i could text them? if you needed them desperately?” she followed up after dumping the ice and pouring the drink. she was quick to make a lemon twist from the skin and add that.

“there you go, that’s $8,”

Ren blinks back. “You’d really call that interesting?” He was more often met with small laughter and little jests about what he preferred to drink. Maybe if he were an old man, he wouldn’t mind getting something from the tap or anything that had been aged for longer than he’d been alive, but if he was going to spend the money to drink something he, you know, wanted to actually like the flavor of it rather than sit at the bar with a twisted face. “Well, I’m glad I can make your evening a little more interesting. I’ll be your guinea pig even; experiment away,”

He still doesn’t consider himself a rather big drinker - rather the opposite given his caution toward alcohol in general, but Ren is nothing but experimental and is never opposed to trying anything new, and with no other plans for the evening...why not? Especially if the owner wasn’t there today. “No, no, you don’t need to text her, “ His head abruptly shakes. “It was just a...mild curiosity,” He doesn’t need her coming back and recalling the disturbance he’d made last time and boot him back out.

Once the drink is made, however, Ren pulls it closer to his side of the counter and looks over the glass to her. “Do you want to tell me what’s in it first? Or should I take a sip beforehand?”

he comes bearing a tray of comfort food– one of everything on the menu– that he’s paid for this time. the soup looks warm and soothing– the pastries, one of each, are still pipping hot. there’s even a particularly pretentious looking chicken breast on a plate of mashed potatoes and gravy that doesn’t at all compete with the chicken nuggets they have at home. he slides in the booth– his thigh touching his boyfriends as he takes that phone and pulls it away from Ren.

“No phone calls. Just food.”

he thinks it’s high time the phone calls subsided and faded into the background. this thought is completed as he shuts off the phone, and tucks it into his pocket. “I know you already ordered what you wanted, but I brought more just in case.” his eyebrows pin in worry for the other– he’d been working so hard– the internship was already enough, but taking over full time? of course he believed Ren could do anything he put his heart into, but Todd would have to be there to make sure Ren was taken care of while he was so… distracted.

“Would it absolutely kill you to take a break?” perhaps that was the wrong choice of words given the dire situation of the missing sisters… 

“I mean– will you please just sit here with me and enjoy something?” 

Ren can barely imagine eating the food he has on his own plate, let alone anything that Todd has taken upon himself to purchase. The soup must be savory and full of comfort, and he imagines those mashed potatoes are delectably fluffy, but the energy of bringing food to his lips, chewing swallowing...has simply vanished.

“You shouldn’t have gotten so much. I can’t eat all that on a normal day,” His head shakes. “Maybe I could’ve back in high school...but Todd, it’s too much.”

Contrary to his own words, Ren does pluck at the corner of a pastry and allows for the flakes of bread to simply melt against his tongue. The moment passes and he wishes for his phone again. “I can’t just stop. I mean, all the people who’ve hired her have a right to know what’s going on if they call and ask about why their case progress is stalled. What if one of those calls is information about where she is? Or one of her bigger clients with a question?” His head shakes. “I can’t just ignore all of them. Someone has to be there to answer.”

a manicured hand reaches over the table, scratching renato’s scalp while politely answering the call. she doesn’t envy him, jasmine able to sense the anxiety and stress brought on by josephine’s disappearance. this wasn’t like her; and in no way, shape or form would she leave renato unsupervised for this long. honestly, who would? “try to eat something at least, settle your stomach.” the now pregnant musician whispers, covering the end of the phone before returning to the other person on its line. her accent and disposition oddly enough welcomed as jasmine reassures their client that while their business is appreciated, it will be sometime until josephine returns to the office; jasmine coming up with falsehood of her being on vacation, for its much more believable than to say she was kidnapped and they have no idea where the attorney is.

“guess all that retail experience in high school paid off.” laughs the brunette, reaching for her herbal tea as she scribbles down the message in perfect cursive. “how have you been? I mean, besides the obvious. are you eating? sleeping alright?” jasmine asks, maternal drive already into high gear but that’s to be expected. and it didn’t help that she had become the designated mom friend since dating pax and welcoming his inner circle into her world.

Ren isn’t sure if he welcomes the head scratch, but he allows for Jasmine to do it anyway - her nails do feel nice on his scalp, and it’s a welcome feeling compared to the stressful lunches, lengthy calls, and polite emails he’d had to send in the past twenty-four hours. He should eat, but he shakes his head at Jasmine’s suggestion. “I’m not really hungry. I ordered too much,” For show, he does pry one of the fries off his his plate to eat, but pushes the remainder of his sandwich in front of her.

“You’re welcome to the rest, if you want. I haven’t touched that half at all,” He points to the other half of the sandwich for Jasmine to take. “Uh. Well. I lay in bed at night. But actual sleeping?” He shrugs his shoulders. There had to be some sleep squeezed in those hours, but none of it was restful. “I’ve been having leftovers,” Although he’d mostly nibbled like a bird. “It...hasn’t exactly been high on my priority list.”

The anxiety all around Salem was palpable, it seemed like everywhere Maia turned to was just people worrying about the two missing sisters.  Not that Maia wasn’t worried, she just dealt with it a bit differently.  She was hanging out in the caramel apple cafe and bistro, knowing that public spaces were probably the best bet right now, and it wasn’t hard hearing the person next to her having to answer so many calls for one of the missing persons.  She felt bad for him, knowing that he probably knew her well and was worried sick.  It didn’t take long for him to give up answering the phone all together.

“Has it really been that bad?  Don’t they know that they literally can’t talk to her right now?”  Maia asked, trying to be as careful around the subject as possible.  “It’s not like it’s your fault this is happening, you definitely shouldn’t be yelled at.”

“Passing the message along to all of her clients is easier said than done,” Ren admits. Although Miss Josephine made it a point to keep detailed records and contact information, that still left dozens of phone calls for Ren to get through every day - and none of the phone calls had been quick, with half the clients questioning what would happen to their case if her disappearance continued.

Ren doesn’t really know - they don’t teach you what to do if your boss goes missing in law school.

“Most of them are just...confused. Worried. And, okay yeah, a few of them are jerks. One guy did actually yell at me when I said she was, quite literally, incapable of getting to the phone. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Put the phone next to a picture of her and let an audio recording play?” He sighs. “The ones that aren’t understanding are usually the worst.”

[ salem forest, near the lair ; march 25th. ] // @solitaryspirits ; annabelle

Tensions had been running high since news of the findings surrounding the disappearances blistered over the town, and the kingpin had been attempting to lay low with the Coffin Club temporarily closed — ducking his head and imbibing the hit to his financial bind with as much grace as one possibly could, whilst picking through the possible options to supplement the missing funds. The pathways were limited with Evren’s pregnancy and it meant taking the risk of upscaling what the motorcycle club was getting up to outside of hanging around Scaredy Cat and messing with the idle entertainment scattered around the lair. Petrichor hung pungently in the air when he traipsed outside for a smoke, listening to his surroundings avidly for any disturbances and ever on high alert. Search parties had been combing their way through the foliage here and there, and there was no such thing as being overly cautious.

The branch snapping in the vicinity could’ve been written off as an animal, were keen hearing incapable of pinpointing it was too loud and heavy-footed. Tugging his beanie snug against his forehead, Cyrek picked through the grass cautiously, palms pressing against the sturdy oak tree adjacent of the entrance to the lair and peering around. Heterochromatic eyes adjusted to the blanketing of the night and keyed into the sight of someone ambling through the woods — neither a missing person nor anyone he was personally familiar with, judging from the profile, and too close to the hideout for comfort. He lingered, listening for any other signs that would indicate there were multiple people surrounding them, and when he realized they were alone, the paranoid thought erupted that they could be someone behind it — someone had to set Evan up, didn’t they? Putting his cigarette out, he crept along the treeline, silhouette blending into the forestry and tracking their footsteps.

When the moment was right, he lunged for the kill — metaphorically speaking. The other was smaller, and therefore the break in pattern where he could catch them close enough to a sturdy tree inured the attempt to grab onto an arm and push them back against it. “What the fuck are you doin’ around here? Can’t you read a no trespassin’ sign?”

Annabelle couldn’t say they were uninterested in the missing sisters; whether the two girls reappeared alive, dead...or simply not at all, Annabelle doesn’t see any scenario having a significant affect on their life; they weren’t close with the family, and they had more important people to worry about...that person being me, myself, I, Todd, and Mary; their circle of trust and caring had seldom expanded beyond their immediate family.

But she was still curious, how could two people just disappear without much of a trace? Salem wasn’t that big of a city, and if the rumors she’d heard were true, the whole family seemed obsessed with social media and their online presence. It seems unlikely that their disappearance had been at all willingly...Unless it were a publicity stunt, but Annabelle imagines there would have been more evidence left behind for the added spice of danger, if that were the case.

When they venture deeper into the woods, past the abandoned house they’d shacked up in, Annabelle doesn’t intend on searching for the sisters - that’s too big of a task for them to ever complete on their own. But they’re ultimately a sucker for a good mystery, and the depths of the woods are all that and more. Annabelle doesn’t know what they expect to find; most of the plastic bottles half-buried under old leaves are presumably from runoff water or lazy hikers, and the rusted tea kettle they find must be from one of the crumbling houses old occupants. They don’t pay much attention to the No Trespassing signs they inevitably come across - who else would be this far into the woods with no major road to follow? They presume the signs are old and meaningless, but they do plan to keep an eye out for the potential rusted barbed wire --

Until, that is, she finds herself slammed into a tree and the air manages to escape from her lungs. The bark grates at her cheek. She instinctively tries to fight back - feet scramble to stomp on toes, her free arm thrashes to scratch at any exposed skin from her assailant, but the brute force is stronger than she can help. “Get the hell off of me --” Her words spit against the tree. “Fuck off. I’m armed --” By nothing more than a small pocket knife, but her attacker didn’t need to know that.

Mary, Annabelle, and Todd; Gargoyle Apartments || @solitaryspirits· & @sin-tentional·

— “It makes me think of what happened to mom,” she admitted. Mary shut her laptop. It was coated in colorful stickers, many of them logos or references to her favorite pop culture mediums. Staring at the familiar, albeit silly, collection eased her stress. She’d spent the last few hours setting up bots on social media to boost awareness of the disappearing sisters’ case. Not that they needed much boosting. Their famous relative – who’d graced a certain daytime soap opera that Mary had been glued to since its pilot aired – had enough star power that news on the missing girls weren’t swallowed up by other headlines.

Ruminating on what’d happened to the girls was eating up the majority of her free time. Mary hunched over on the couch, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them close. Even though they’d been given the key to their father’s apartment and told to make themselves feel at home, it felt unsettling to be somewhere so unfamiliar while such fear and uncertainty blanketed the town. “Doesn’t it bother you guys, too? If they never find those girls, there’ll never be anything for their sisters to bury,” she said, quietly. “This is just my personal opinion – I mean, I don’t know if you guys feel the same way– but, this feels just as fishy as mom’s death. There’s something really, really wrong about all of this.”

Todd’s got some hamburger helper that he’s whipping up– the milk is all stirred in, and he’s tearing off a piece of the paper cheese packaging to dump into that tasty skillet he’s making for himself and his sisters. it’s a weird thing– two other sisters disappearing out of nowhere– even weirder that it’s brought the triplets together. the mention of mom, however, throws him off more than it should. “Uh…”  the mess in the kitchen is something he tries to focus on. the garlic bread on the sheet pan isn’t ready to go in the oven just yet. the hamburger helper will have to sit for awhile– and now of all times, Todd wishes he knew of a vegetable to go with dinner to keep him in that kitchen nook and hidden away from those questions. “What do you mean–”  his counter doesn’t stop him from taking a couple of bowls from out of cabinets. the first one needs a bit of dusting– which is what he’s working on now– the bowl is being wiped down with his own shirt. eyebrows pinch together as he sets the glass back down on the counter. 

“I think it’d be really sad if Dollie doesn’t show up– she’s a good friend, and” he frowns. “I miss her.” he keeps his answers short, “And Ren… he’s stressed enough as it is with work, and I believe he’s ready for a promotion, but he needs his boss back.” he continues to deflect the question. “If they never find those girls, I think there are matters worse than worrying about burying them…” he tries cautiously– “You don’t think it’s related, do you?” he knows it’s not related, or, at least, he knows that Dollie and Josie weren’t mixed up in anything their mother was, “I mean, come on, Mary, Mom was mixed up in a lot of stuff…”

With Todd making dinner and Mary away at her computer, Annabelle has both feet curled in her chair. On the end table next to her, she keeps her fingers spread out as far as they’ll go to paint her nails. She’d grown tired of the green paint chipping away, and has now moved onto a fresh coat of strawberry red. Her nails take more precedence over the missing sisters. Not because Annabelle is heartless - but what is there that she can do? She knows little about either girl, and if the relentless search parties hadn’t found them yet, Annabelle doubts she could do much to offer any more assistance. “I mean, yeah, it’s sad,” She agrees. “But it’s not the same thing that happened to Mom, is it? We know what happened to her. Sort of,”

They lift their hand from the end table to blow on the first coat of polish. “Boat accident, right? It’s not like she just disappeared into thin air,” And the authorities could only spend so much time coaming the bottom of the water for their mother’s body. “At least we know. Not knowing...well, you’re just kinda stuck pretending that they might come back some day, right?” A thought Annabelle had entertained briefly but ultimately dismissed in the years since their mother’s apparent death. “So you think they’re already dead?” They ask. “Maybe we’ve got a serial killer on the lose here. Dammit, Todd, I knew I shouldn’t have let you convince me to come all the way out here. I don’t want to be next on the murdered list.”