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     she stands still, until she doesn’t   :   until anxiety drives her movements, and an athletic frame back and forth through the room, and back again. alcohol is cause for a fuzzy mind, and everything he says   –   everything he claims which she knows not to be true, because it isn’t, goes presented to her through a disconsolate haze.   “   and you couldn’t just … BREAK UP with me ? you had to in the worst way possible ?   ”   a laugh passes through full lips, but its presence does not belong, as sawyer does not belong in this situation. she doesn’t want to partake in this revelation, in this world where his words are the absolute truth, yet she’s found in the smack middle, furious and dismal   :   a troublesome concoction which will lead her nowhere, and them to their ruin. though beckett has himself to blame for that. FOR EVERYTHING.   “   i … i don’t even know what to say to you right now.   ”   fingers rub teary eyes, a flushed tone indicating a state other than a bashful.   “   i mean, i can’t even look at you.   ”   and yet she does.   “   did you want me to hate myself ? is that it ? is that what you wanted   :   for me to spend years thinking i did something, that i wasn’t enough, or i was too much.   ”   beat.   “   and you knew, this whole time, you knew ! and you just let me.   ”

    riff jogs her memory, bringing forth a curl of full lips   –   it was a fruitless task to stifle smiles in the presence of the other, regardless of the frightening scenario experienced, but her recollection of the song is, not that it matters much, not as the topic switches and the attention is moved onto herself.   “   okay, no. i don’t … i don’t fear heights.   ”   she objects.   “   i just don’t like them.   ”   an important difference. sadly, the latter didn’t land any closer to the truth than the former. fear was a perfectly valid descriptor, but sawyer kinney wasn’t fearful   –   rather she prided herself in bravery and the ability to overcome nerves, not submitting to them like a kid scared of the dark.    “   i don’t know, lou ! roller - coasters are fine, ‘cos they’re like, over before they even started. you don’t have time to sit ‘n think about bolts coming loose and how rickety bar - thing is, or about plummeting to your death.   ”   a moment to catch her breath, and eyes seek out white sneakers.   “   not that that’s what i’m doing right now …   ”

     space is placed between them, a bed left behind and a back turned.   TRUST   –    all of the world’s importance is placed into a simple concept, relationships and friendships alike wither without it. it sustains every single thing within the universe, and it keeps it afloat   –   it keeps her afloat. the trust she has in herself, in her abilities, in god, in those she loves. except … she doesn’t have it now, not fully. not remotely in some parts.   “   okay.   ”   she breathes, spinning around to face him again.   “   so … you   –   you lied.   ”   its unfathomable   :   people lie   –    white lies, half - truths … but to lie with the intent to hurt, with the knowledge that the words you present are the cause for heartache   –   no decent person would. he wouldn’t.   “   why ?   ”   she wishes still   :   for it to be a quip, a joke taken too far, though eyes indicate sincerity and she resents it. him, too.

     silence knocks her down and she succumbs to the discomfort. not a movement made and eyes, which could usually discern dishonesty in familiar features, struggle wholly. it had to have been a joke, a terrible one, but a joke. she doesn’t laugh. instead   –   offense strikes and it pushes her away from the boy. physically, emotionally.   “   that’s not funny.   ”   her voice echoes the one of a disapproving guardian but her tone implies hurt rather than disappointment. although, there was plenty of that, too. his actions had never been ones up for debate, in need of endless poking and deep analysis   –   he was beckett graves and she knew him. better than most knew her, better than anybody knew anybody in this town. maybe the world even. and yet, intuition short - circuits beneath the weight of his words.   “   bullshit.   ”

     the points made were ones agreed with, and a man of argumentative nature finds himself agreeing.   “  gotta hate yourself a fuck - ton ‘ta be turning yourself down based on looks.   ”   he starts, attraction often being subjective rather than objective   –   meaning that his clone’s opinion lacked in importance.   “   wouldn’t be a you, the original, problem, though. sounds like your doppelgänger’s got some psychological issues to deal with.  ”   a pause, and he sips his coffee.   “   ever heard those old german folktales ? ‘bout people seeing their doubles and shit ?   ”

     his agreement brings on a theatric curtsy, and a joyous THANK YOU. but the clothing is moved away from, as if it’s presence alone would leave a dress - sized hole in her wallet. out of sight, out of mind … until her friend speaks up.   “   no, rhys   –   it’s fine.   ”   the offer’s sweet, but money was never a thing she would accept. FROM ANYONE. her uncle’d been adamant about her not paying rent, and there she was   –   leaving a stack of bills on the kitchen table every month, no matter the protests uttered. well, not so much anymore. he’d admitted defeat, finally. most people around sawyer did.   “   it’s just a dress.   ”   she continues.   “   that’s real nice of you, though. truly.   ”   beat.   “   you wanna get outta here ? get some food ?   ”

     forearms rest atop of blockwood, fingers picking at the charms of her bracelet.   “   only needs to work on the one.   ”   she reminds the brunette, though due to past requests   –   she keeps the boyfriend talk to a minimum. besides, she did not want to be that girl. despite the fact that she was, without doubt, one - hundred and twenty percent, indeed that girl.   “   starved.   ”   an obvious hyperbole, yet she feels the word diminishes her cravings. drink offered is one accepted without much thought, but a cough from unexpected contents follows, as well as laughter.   “   seriously, dylan ? it’s like, noon …   ”  another sip.   “   vodka ?   ”

      he peruses the aisles, not quite certain why he’d gotten the idea to bring life into his small, secluded apartment. easier than a dog, more easily forgotten about, too. whatever he bought, bound to be dead by the end of the month.   “   it was a bullet to the head, the guy’s hardly houdini.   ”   he murmurs.   “   s’that your theory ? man, that’s too mainstream ! TOO SIMPLE. how about the cubans did it ? russians ? cia ? scorned lover joe dimaggio ?   ”   cactuses, maybe. though he could reasonably head out into the desert and pick one of those himself. for free.   “   lotta pickings.   ”   beat.   “   my favorite’s, uh   –   the driver did it. heard that one at a bar down in florida. dude was shit - faced but one hell of a talker.   ”

       expectations on norman’s viewpoint were low, as they were for most people and their opinions on cinema. surprise, although initially experienced, isn’t displayed, rather he opts to an expression of solemn agreement.   “   yeah, yeah … you know, you’re probably onto something.   ”   he admits, as if the fact pained him.   “   ‘bout hooper, i mean. plenty of directors start out with pure shit and then somewhere along the way, genius strikes from fuckin’ nowhere. might be a fluke, might not.   ”   as unexpected as the rest, wolfgang re - directs the conversation to own issues and struggles dealt with.   “   it’s my problem, too. too much of a perfectionist ! i can’t be tossing these sell - out flicks out there for a quick buck, s’just not me, y’know ? so, instead, ‘m stuck with fifty plus drafts collecting dust. some holier than thou shit but i can’t shake it.   ”

     she’s having a cig, smoke fading into nicotine nothingness in the blistering heat, and ashes flicked on the patio below.   “   why it’s no good for business, peaches.   ”   she starts, eyes kept on the street ahead  –  buzzing, yet business was stagnant : fast sleep, awaiting the open / closed sign to flip its way back around. only another couple of hours.    “   now, ya have your eligible bachelors, and you got your sfigati, but the married ones ?   ”   a click of her tongue and another flick of her smoke.   “   gotta look out for those.   ”   words are spoken from experience, and though josie was acquainted with a large portion of eureka’s signoras, altercations are kept at a minimum thanks to wisdom exhibited.   “   got enough trouble as is without somebody’s ball ‘n chains knocking on these saloon doors.   ”

      attention drifts, searching for silhouette’s in a bar window, and then   –   it returns to the stranger.   “   oh, so … you didn’t happen to see a freakishly tall, freakishly pale girl in there ?   ”   a short laugh follows, though with uncertainty’s grasp holding on tight, it fades out.   “   dark hair, blue eyes.   ”   as if one were able to tell in the murky lighting in the establishment ahead.   “   probably not.   ”   own question answered, her eyes seek out the cigarette in hand.   “   and no, it’s  –  it’s fine. free country ‘n all.   ”   pause.   “   but you shouldn’t. for your own sake.   ”

      turns out, titles were harder to come up with than the content itself. and though he’d spent years, decades, creating his own films   –   none required particularly clever names.   “   emphasis on the d’s ?   ”  he begins.   “   yeah, ‘cos when some dudes go into the backroom of blockbuster he’s all about the snappy titles, paying jack to the girls flaunting their shit on the covers.   ”   he takes a sip now, coffee watered and lukewarm. no, thanks.    “   no disrespect to those ladies, they’re the backbone of america, but … what kinda last resort’s that gotta be, huh. which failed audition sends ‘em over the edge, y’know ?   ”  

     the gravity of the subject, however bleak and fundamentally fucked up, isn’t enough to keep a vocal nature at bay. opinions are shared, whether somebody asked for them or not   –   and this situation proved no different.   “   you’d be surprised.   ”   he begins, forearms resting against jean material.   “   look, shit like that … could be money issues, plain n’ simple. that guy ? probably like, their fucking lawyer or some shit.   ”   a beat.   “   now, that’s what your average joe would be telling you.   ”   someone that wolfgang baek was not.   “   but do i look like i got two kids to get home to and mortgage to pay ?   ”   he doesn’t, at least he’d like to think so.   “   it’s government cover - up, shit’s obvious !   ”   a voice raised goes hushed, as if bugs were to be located at any spot in their quaint town. and they were, he was sure of it.   “   and this girl, situation stinks. reeks ! but what’re you gonna do, snatch her out of her bedroom window ? fbi’s not gonna care ‘bout your motive when you’re driving down the 95 with a little girl in the backseat.   ”   a pregnant pause, and he goes on. a softer voice, a more concerned approach.    “   you gotta stay outta it, man.   ”

     mentions of his projects are kept to a minimum, or at least, he attempts to keep them to a minimum. issue was, the more knew, the more would be expecting results. and he was all out of those, and had been for quite some time. lewis was one of those who expected, and even as he has value to the man, the topic forces a sigh.   “   yeah ? so would i.   ”   he begins, glasses pushed further up the bridge of his nose.   “   shit’s been on the back - burner for … god, three months. four, maybe.   ”   pause.   “   got about twelve drafts, though, for other shit that’s never, ever seeing the light of day.   ”   a once-over, and he continues.   “   why, you itching to get ‘ta hollywood ?   ”

      wolfgang moved with a speed which was incomprehensible to most, even though he would account as his closest. lack of understanding was inevitable, yet to the man not understandable.    “   you’d be surprised.   ”   he moves on, refraining from a repetition of previous points.   “   i guess i go looking for these people, too, y’know   –   s’all a part of the job, but they’re out there, alright. and they won’t shut the hell up.   ”   the irony isn’t lost on him.   “   i’m talking non - stop jabbering about little green men and flyin’ saucers right above their trailer - homes.   ”   beat.   “   between me and you, who you wanna be looking for are those who refuse ‘ta talk. those are the ones that’s got the stories. just a matter of pulling it outta them.   ”