livin in my own world

Just because they weren't opposed to breaking and entering didn't mean that Daisy wanted to go through the trouble of breaking into their own apartment. It was early in the morning - a time that most people were waking up to start their day, go to their normal nine-to-five after dropping their children off at school, or to their biweekly water aerobics class, or to watch the stock market open up. Daisy's night however, was still in the process of ending. She probably looked like a crazy person standing outside the Soleil Apartments; only half of her pigtails were still tied in place, her black leather jacket obscured much of her outfit, which had begun glittering in the sun. Somewhere along the way, she had forgotten her shoes. She carried a shot glass in one hand and someone else's sweater. Who had given it to them again? They couldn't remember, which meant that the owner would likely not see it returned. ❝God damn it, why isn't anyone buzzing me in?❞ They huffed at the buttons in front of the building. Maybe she'd just chosen a bad time, or pissed off her neighbors one too many times for making noise at odd hours or asking to be buzzed in as the sun was still trying to creep over the horizon. ❝If I could just find my keys, then I wouldn't need anyone to buzz me in...I swear I hid my spare somewhere around here...❞

MAKING A QUICK TRIP DOWN TO THE FUNERAL HOME on her day off wasn't at the top of Farah's list of things she exactly wanted to do that day, but when a family was asking for more makeup on their dearly departed grandmother, she wasn't about to throw one of the other workers under the bus—especially not when she trusted her own hand with the pencil eyeliner over anyone else's. Grabbing a quick coffee and greasy sandwich on her walk back, platform boots came to a halt a few feet away from the front doors of the apartment complex, taking in the scene before her. "Have ya tried just going down the entire list of apartments and buzzing every single one? Can't believe no one hasn't let ya in if ya lied 'bout having a pizza delivery. Although I might'a used that one too many times so now no one believes it anymore 'less they placed the order themself. I have a pretty bad habit of forgetting my keys." Taking an egregious bite of the egg sandwich in her hand, she dug through the large cheetah-print tote hanging from her shoulder, saying around crumbs, "Good thing it wasn't this time or we'd both be kinda shit out of luck, huh? What's with the barefeet? You know you're gonna get athlete's foot that way, or like, something even worse like some kinda fungus or warts. Ringworm's a bitch. I've seen some of the nastiest feet come into the morgue lately." Finally finding the key fob amongst all else that was shoved in a mess in her bag, she held it up to the door when it finally unlatched with a click, unfazed by her own constant, mindless chatter.

When horrible things happened that were supposed to be newsworthy, Daveed's job was at its most stressfull. Not just because as Press release manager, he managed what made it front page, what was even worthy to appear in the Las Vegas Sun. But also because he had enough people asking to not put their names in the paper. People who had been present places they did not wish to be present, people who would rather not to be known at all. He didn't do it for money... not exactly. He didn't know what he did it for. But it was a nice puzzle regardless.

He had been reading segments for the morning's paper, the weekend issue, and the possible follow-ups all night, the sun long gone when he returned to the streets on his way home. He was nursing a headache already, yet he still carried a cup of steaming coffee. Caffeine long stopped working on him.

When he saw the stranger standing at the street light, seemingly lost to thoughts, never a good sign. He walked a bit closer and held up a hand to get the stranger's attention. "Are you lost?" he asked.

FARAH WAS PUTTING IN THE WORK THIS WEEK. Bodies were piling up in the morgue quicker than she knew what to do with, and every time she turned on the news, there was another person missing (or a near live execution) that lead her to heave a sigh over her black coffee in response to soon be expecting another. Really, though, she couldn't complain as throwing herself into her work was a great distraction from nursing a hurt heart, especially when she could freely speak and rant her vents to the lifeless bodies without any concerns that they would fire back judgements on how she had acted or place blame on her for her decisions in falling for a relationship that seemingly barely ever was. Not that that was anything new, as someone who barely kept her mouth shut, it should have come as no surprise that even when she was in the midst of embalming bodies, she found no issue with carrying on a one-sided conversation with those who were laid across her metal table. So lost in her rambles and the large amount of work she had, by the time she had cleaned up her workstation (and herself from the smell), it was long after the bus schedule had stopped for the night. Blinking at the question, as if she hadn't caught it, after a moment, her brain had caught up. "Uh, not exactly. Kinda just waiting for a cab to finally pass down this street, but no such luck in the last twenty minutes. They always make catching a cab look so easy in big cities in the movies, don't they? Then when you finally need one, it's like there's none to be found! Or maybe all the cabbies are worried about what's been going on to pick up people this late." Which, probably didn't bode well for standing stranded on the street either. "The buses are done 'til early in the morning and," She motioned down to her staple platform boots she changed into from the shoes that stayed planted in the mortuary as she didn't want the scent of embalming fluids stinking up her home. "These boots aren't made for walking."

where:  the  weiss  wedding  reception,  cocktail  hour

who:  open  !

dominique  leans  against  a  wall,  people  watching  from  a  distance.  she  is  quite  the  social  butterfly  herself,  but  she  is  waiting  to  find  the  perfect  prey.  sipping  on  her  champagne,  cat-like  eyes  dart  across  the  room  to  analyze  each  of  the  guests.  it's  like  all  of  vegas  is  in  attendance  and  considering  the  kind  of  pull  that  the  weiss  family  has,  well,  she  wouldn't  be  surprised…

throwing  back  the  rest  of  her  drink,  she  places  the  glass  on  a  nearby  table.  contemplating  her  next  move,  dom  bites  on  her  lower  lip  as  she  makes  her  way  over  to  the  open  bar  to  order  something  with  a  little  more  of  a  kick.  she  steps  up  and  orders  something  strong  but  simple  –  vodka  soda,  only  for  someone  to  end  up  tapping  on  her  shoulder.

“oh  shit!  did  i  cut  you?”  she  flashes  the  other  a  smile.  “my  bad…  here  ya  go,”  she  nods  towards  the  bartender,  “here,  take  ‘em  first..  i  didn’t  realize.”

A WEDDING WAS QUITE POSSIBLY ONE OF THE WORST places to be nursing a heart in pain, with only a wedding that had an open bar beating it. Considering with an entirely clear mind, Farah had a habit of speaking her mind a little too often, downing alcohol wasn't her best idea when surrounded by...coworkers? criminals? Or rather, a mix of the two and anybody else who was considered anybody by the Weiss family. It wasn't a setting she wished to embarrass herself in, though, her six inch platform heels were still carrying her right back to the open bar when she was forced to witness Sev perfectly fine and having a good time instead of wallowing as she wished he would. Her distraction was why she hadn't realized she was next in line until someone had cut in, one long, fake nail tapping the other's shoulder brazenly, only to be met with kindness the mortician hadn't expected. "I think you did." This was not the person to take her negative feelings out on. "You can get your vodka soda; I'll just be gettin' the strongest and most expensive liquor he's got behind that bar. You hear that?" Her gaze switched to the bartender. "Straight. And make it a double unless you want me coming back way too soon. I'm too sober for this."

HER HAND FROZE WHERE IT HAD BEEN on its way towards his plate, lips pursing before returning it to her own that was only filled with crumbs by that point. "You didn't look like you were gonna eat it," she defended, eyes peering around her to see if there was any of the finely-dressed waiters delivering more to tables before returning to Sev with an unimpressed expression. "Are you gonna keep reminding me that all night? I almost think you get something out of rubbing salt into the wound there." Attitude was sprinkled as carefully upon her words as the seasoning was on the oysters he shoved towards her, hesitating for a moment to consider refusing out of pure spite that they weren't dates, which wasn't exactly a fact she preferred to learn on the way to the event itself after spending a fair amount of time preparing herself, even going as far as choosing a dress that was simply black over the usual leopard print she was so apt to always reach for. Alas, her greed in expensive food won over, pulling the plate of oysters towards herself, but doing so without a word of gratitude. Putting effort in to slurp down the oyster in the most dignified fashion possible—really, how did people manage that?—his question earned her eyes raising to his face with a barely glint of annoyance in her eyes. "Now why would I do that? It's not like you're my date or anything. I wouldn't want to make your girlfriend upset or jealous or anything. Why don't you just go ahead and tell me not to look at you at all for the rest of the night if you're so worried?" The conversation held on the drive there hadn't been much different, but the topic was unable to be dropped. "Or should I just go ahead and pretend not to know you at all? Is that what you want?"

@boneyardstarters

The ball was bound to drop, one way or another. How could he rely on his own daughter for something as simple as playing nice and making a speech on a day like this? Perhaps he was being too kind, too nice all his life. Perhaps he spoiled all of them too much. All he asked of all of them was to live up to his expectations; such a small thing to do, and yet, as he watched Remi fail miserably at that, he knew he made a mistake. He was too trusting, too kind, and it had to end tonight.

It was a shame that it all went down on a day like this, but as William re-entered the room, immediately surrounded by the wandering eyes and overwhelmed by the whispers that were certainly there, all he could do was control the damage already done. Then again, was anyone really stupid enough to come to him and demand for answers?

Lips snarling into a smile, William raised his glass of champagne at the person that had approached him. “I’m sure my dearest bride is somewhere around too, although, she’s probably just as overwhelmed by everyone’s well-wishes.” It was a dig, but he was still playing nice; there was no way around it. The photographers were there, and with him being part of the duo who got everyone’s attention, he knew he had to be the accommodating and happy newlywed. It was one of the many roles the man knew how to play, and whilst he would’ve been happy to celebrate in other ways, this had to do. If he was pleasant yet authoritative, he knew he could manage just fine.

“I do hope you’re enjoying yourselves on this fantastic day.”

TOO ANNOYED TO REMAIN AT THE TABLE ANY LONGER with her non-date who so conveniently forgot to inform her of a fake girlfriend he had yet to have a fake breakup with, Farah had huffed away to grab another glass of champagne and possibly a liquid a little stronger. Love was alive and in the air for seemingly everyone but the courier, though she definitely couldn't say she was having the worst night out of all attendees after watching one of daughters make a fool of herself. Been there, done that, was unfortunately her first thought as she was all too familiar with unintentionally playing the role of jester, though she was thankful not to have the bells chiming around her own head for once. Or maybe she still was, as she had somehow been oblivious enough to miss the aforementioned fact that was affecting her own love life. Approaching the don was not an intelligent idea on her part, as she was inevitable to stick her foot in her mouth at least thrice in every conversation she partook in, though, it seemed rude to be attending the wedding and never having actually had a conversation with the big man himself, too lowly of a position to ever earned such previously. "Well, y'know, don't they always say the reception passes by in the blink of an eye for the bride and groom because it's just constant gogogo with greeting everyone and toasts and dancing and cake? Not that I would know." At this rate, she never was going to know. "Oh, definitely. Whoever you got to cater this thing did a fantastic job because the food is great. I mean, you get food good enough and no one will even remember anything else like weird speeches." A mention that was entirely unnecessary to make and yet her words flew past the broken filter on her mouth before she could think on it.

It wasn’t common for Ender to be delivering Ines’ merchandise by hand, she most commonly had one of their people pick up from wherever he gathered it, but with the delivery mishap that happened the week prior, he couldn’t be bothered to rely on them again. Not only were the bags useless for their intended purpose, but they were wasted by the time he got them back. Then he had to go through yet another round of extractions so he could continue on his data.  Deep in thought as he’d been, and annoyed at having to figure everything out as if he was the one in need, Ender turned the corner sharply and smacked right into another person. “  Shit.  ” he winced, reaching to touch the throbbing spot on his forehead only to realize in the same breath that his bags now laid coated the ground at their feet. “  Fuck!  ” Instinctively he reached down to gather as many of the bags as he could, hoping that most had been firm enough to not burst - though the spreading red liquid on the pavement told a different story. He picked them back up, holding them for a moment in the air to ensure they weren’t perforated before he threw them back into the partially empty cooler.  No thoughts went to the blood splattered on him - he was used to it with his profession - or the person he’d bumped straight into. The blood currently pouring onto the dirty pavement meant far more than any formalities or conversation that could take place in the moment. He simply did not care. “  Fuck me.  ” he continued cursing, merely for the slight relief it brought to do so. Just a couple more doors and he’d have been exactly where he needed to be, instead of he kneeled in the streets trying to save what little sanity he had left. " Watch your step. " he uttered to the other.

THE CURIOSITY WAS, QUITE FRANKLY, KILLING HER. All Farah was assigned with was taking the box from location A to B, ensuring a safe delivery and no interceptions. At no point in any task she was given was she required to know exactly what she was moving between points, and yet the urge to shake the box until she could decipher what was bouncing around within it was buzzing at her fingertips that gripped onto the cardboard. Or maybe slipping one of her long fake nails under the tape just enough to try and peek inside without ripping it. Alas, logic would, once again, win over and even though her mouth usually lacked any self restraint at all with the words that would come tumbling out of it, her actions did have some sort of buffer against her grand ideas (usually), at least when pissing off anyone working within the Weiss family sat heavily on the line. Her inquisitiveness wasn't the only thing putting the package in jeopardy, though, almost being squished between two bodies when she collided with another, and a gasp left her as she concerningly checked every side of the box, as if an internal damage could be perceived anyway. "Shit, dude, this thing might be worth my life, ya gotta watch rounding corners like that." He seemed to be aggravated enough without her unhelpful advice, but who was she if not saying the first thing that came to mind at any given moment? "Hey, I know you. You know, from all that secret stuff." Her lips had to physically clamp shut from allowing anything further about the Weiss family snuck by them, actually minding the advice of Sev to be discrete in a rare moment. "Y'know, I think as a medic you're supposed to try to keep the blood in the bodies, yeah?"

there were few things kiara loved more than baking. it was something that she had been doing since she was a child, but lately, it hadn’t been bringing her as much joy as it once did. part of her chalked it up to her being alone in vegas, away from her family, but kiara knew the real reason. it had been a few months, but every time she closed her eyes, she could see carnage. that night with the others in the desert still haunted her. that look in their eyes as that… thing came towards her. it was something that she could never escape. but god, was she trying to. but there was no one to talk to about it, not anyone who would understand, anyway.

AT FIRST, FARAH HAD WALKED RIGHT ON BY the bakery, but it had only taken her about forty five seconds for the platform boots she would inevitably switch out for more reasonable sneakers to sport around the morgue once she arrived at work to come to halt on the side and for the mortician to promptly turn right around to get a second glance at the baked items on display, walking right through the front door with a chime and an empty stomach that decided a baked good was exactly what it was in the mood for. "Bet the holidays make things crazy 'round here. Y'know, all the parties and whatnot and people realizing all the stuff they promised to bring to parties aren't as easy to make themselves as they thought, inevitably going out to just buy 'em and instead try to pass off as their own? Not that that has ever happened to me, or anything, wouldn't know from experience." Her mouth inevitably ran a mile a minute as brown hues took a gander at the array of items that made it impossible to pick just one or two in what looked best to buy. She actually wasn't a lost cause in the kitchen herself, contrary to have a mind that seemed to wander from thought to thought, once it was set to something whether it was a dish or a body on a metal slab, Farah was quite competent at zeroing in on a task at hand. It was making anything that hadn't been plucked out one of her late mother's Persian recipe books that she struggled to pull together. "A rainbow brownie is tempting, but I think I'm in the mood for something fruity. I'm a sucker for a cherry danish, but what do you recommend there? You know it all best, right?"

"weirdest place i've ever been handcuffed or weirdest place i've handcuffed someone?"

he shakes his head. "umm. okay. answer to the first one... i was once handcuffed to an ex's radiator in her bathroom. don't ask. i'm still sensitive about it."

THE HOMICIDE DEPARTMENT WASN'T ENTIRELY unknown to Farah, as someone had to deal with the bodies once the coroner had gathered all the information possible from them, but she could say with certainty that Lilura's was the face was the one she was most familiar with, if not maybe for the coroner's driver, over anyone carrying a badge. Talking to anyone of that caliber made her nervous, and it shouldn't have been surprising considering her past in juvenile detention and the current, hidden role under the Weiss family, except for the fact that neither were the true reason. Instead, it was incompetence in keeping her big mouth shut or at least think before she let words fly. Probably how the inappropriate question came up in the first place. "The radiator was....off right? 'Cause if not that kinda sounds like attempted murder. We once got this body in of this old guy who was using his space heater as a foot rest when he went...man, you shoulda seen his feet when we pulled those slippers off." Her shaped brows rose, the closest indicator to what a sight it was. "I feel like there's gotta be some interesting cop-related ones. Or are you mostly arresting people from interrogation rooms? That's what happened to me." There it was.

She paused for a second, mostly because it was hard to get a single word in. And that second turned to a painful minute as the other spoke... and spoke... She wondered if pushing her thumb into the pressure point at her shoulder would stop her mouth from running. Fantasised about it, even though dark eyes remained entirely polite in their contact with the other. And her hands, how they happily busied themselves opening the box in her hands to see it empty on the inside, if not for the Upcoming Titles flyer nested inside.

Handy that it had the very film Farah was talking about advertised. "Scream." She spoke matter-of-factly, and undeniably fondly. A silent omission that the brunette was also looking forward to a fresh spin on the genre.

Lilura pulled the paper from the box and offered it to the her. "Does that make it a Christmas movie, canonically speaking?"

Rent in store from January 5.

"You'll be waiting a while, love. Unless you'd like to see it in the cinema? I was planning to go, anyway." An invitation, no doubt. And one that wasn't given very often, but seemed... polite. "Jury's out on an evil Santa Clause, though. Personally I'd rather bathe in sulfuric acid than watch a holly jolly would-be-caricature-slasher for an hour and a half."

THE JUXTAPOSITION OF THE SINGLE WORD in response to her half mindless gabbing was entirely missed by Farah, as well as the lack of entertainment she was providing the peer in her field of work, though once she started on a topic it was rare the mortician noticed much else besides her own motor mouth, a captive audience of one for her own self. A simple blink was given before two of her fingers snapped in recognition, a thousand watt smile brightening up her face when Lilura hit the bullseye on the title she was searching for. "That's the one!" Round brown eyes trailed down to the brunette's hands and the container within them, then the flyer pulled out, taking it once it was offered. "Well, I guess that's a whole 'nother conversation." Which was practically her way of saying don't get me started, as if Farah ever required an invitation to rev up her engines on a new ramble. "Doesn't seem like it's related to Christmas at all from what I could tell. But Die Hard came out in July and people are willing to die...hard on the hill that that's considered a Christmas movie." A shrug fell from her shoulders, her care of which side she was on flippant regardless of the fact that she had more than enough to say on it. Finally looking down at the paper, her face fell from the animated expression she previously wore to instead her lips pulling down at the corners in clear dismay at the news. "Well, I guess that means I was even more premature in showing up here for it than I thought." Though her manner hadn't remained dimmed for long, lips turning right in the opposite direction at the offer. "I'd love that. I don't usually go to the movies if I don't have someone to go with. Not that it's weird to go alone because I don't think that. I just usually...don't." An over-explanation wasn't warranted, and yet its delivery was expedited. "I don't know, I still think some slasher Santa would be cool...." A gasp left her, one hand raising in front of her face as if setting the scene. "Or imagine, killer reindeer. Just antlers covered in blood."

Bo wouldn't say they were an amateur Vampire hunter, more an aspiring one. They'd never actually seen one after the one that killed their family, but they were always looking for hints of their existence. And through their job it was easy to find those rumours, people who'd sworn to having met them, to having seen them, to having escaped with their lives. But just barely.

They sat down at the park where one of the rumours had let them to, a few hours before dark, with a canteen of coffee and a bagged sandwich beside them. They were using a camera, as they had before, to capture people, hoping that like the stories: vampires could not be captured.

They snapped an image of someone walking down, and quickly tried to hide the sound.

AS MUCH AS SHE SHOULD HAVE JUST LET IT GO, the mortician was unable to pull the sight from her mind, specifically every time she had closed her eyes, of sharp teeth and features that looked less human every time she had thought back on the memory, despite the fact that it would have made her life incredibly easy to simply move on and pretend it didn't exist. But each time she stretched her hand a little too far, the phantom pain would again go shooting through the muscles that hadn't yet fully healed from being crushed beneath a trunk door, the pure, unadulterated fear of feeling like a rabbit baited in a trap for a predator still living on within her even if practically half a year had passed since that fateful and stormy night. "You're Bo," she'd stated simply, though her voice raised in tone at the end, implying it was a question. Maybe relying upon a grapevine wasn't the best way to find to find someone to talk to about this, anyone who could make her feel as if the world around her wasn't gaslighting her about what she had seen, no matter how fantastical over realistic it sounded. "What're you photographing? Vegas probably has a lot of sights that are better than the park. Though, I guess if you're looking for something more natural, this would be the best place to get it, wouldn't it? Not a lot of grass anywhere else 'round here. Not like in Alaska." Nor did she have to worry about rumors of the paranormal as much there, either, except for maybe the odd footstep in snow that were too large for explanation. Photography hadn't been what she was there to discuss, but there was rarely a topic she couldn't go on about. "I think we might be asking around about some similar stuff."