#bhsstarter

Crafting was something that Molly had always enjoyed but hadn't consistently found the inspiration to jump into as often as she used to. No one in the Springs was any the wiser but at one point at one of her old libraries in Nashville she was a bit of a crafting queen. There was a time, about a decade ago, when it was unusual to not see Molly putting together some kind of fun, hands-on activity while working the front desk. Though what she had created was meant to be for kids, adults of all ages ended up taking a piece of her creation home.

Some years ago she had lost that spark and had feared it might not ever return. Yet here she was, almost two years post divorce and crafting at the front desk of the Bleeding Hearts Springs Library. And not just any simple kind of crafting - Molly was full on testing a Paper Mache creation complete with sticky, gluey hands not too far from the computer at the circulation desk.

Molly Hiatt felt right at home for the first time in way too long and didn't have much of a care as to who might walk in and see her as relaxed as she was. Upon her arrival to the Springs she kept her hair tight in a bun and blouses buttoned right to the top.

This summer had brought about a bit of a new Molly, one that wore her hair in a haphazardly loose bun with strands framing her cheekbones and tops and dresses fashioned in a way that hung freely from her body. It was a stark contrast from the tightly wound librarian who snuck into town about two years ago. And yes, she's pretty sure there's a few tiny globs of glue in her hair.

Something about spending an early morning at Honest Auto made Tori feel a little more like an adult. There were some who probably thought it was a little weird to feel such a way about work but Tori couldn't imagine spending a morning anywhere else. Well, maybe she'd prefer to still be in bed but after waking up before the birds around 4:30 am and not being able to fall asleep, she figures she'll walk across the street and practice productivity - at least that was advice her mother had given her years ago. Though her mom only walked from her bedroom down to the kitchen when she couldn't sleep.

But this morning Tori chooses to embrace the warm summer air as she locks her front door and shuffles across the street to Honest Auto. Murphy wanders behind her sleepily, his white paws padding softly on the ground. As they reach the door of the shop he yawns, "Me too, bud." Tori says, patting the boxer mix on the head gently.

Murphy sniffs around the shop, Tori following. She fills his shop bowl from the bag of kibble and by the time she's finished her little shop coffee pot is chirping. With sleepy eyes she takes her mug and fills a cup. This morning calls for a strong cup of black coffee. They have a short backlog of projects. Tori's confident they'll get caught up by the end of the day, and she's assigned her dad to an easier fix. He'll grumble when he arrives in a few hours but Tori doesn't care. He's the one who made her in charge.

A few hours pass, Tori fills the time by doing routine maintenance on her mother's 1980 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. It was an anniversary gift from her pop before Tori was born and growing up it was one of the first cars she learned how to service. Her hoodie has since been abandoned. Tiny biceps now exposed through the edges of the sleeves of her tshirt as she's topping off the transmission fluid. She hears Murphy stir in her bay, heading toward the open garage door and eagerly greeting the person. "Murph!" Tori calls, beckoning the dog back with her hand. He obliges but isn't happy about it. He just wants some pets.

Tori Mae wasn't much for dancing and pageantry but she did enjoy the occasional event to people watch. The Springs came alive every spring with the Rain of Petals Parade and the looks of pure joy on the faces of festival goers was a nice reminder that there still was a little magic left in the world, even if none of it belonged to Tori Mae.

She should've listened to Miss Fortune all those years ago when she told her to expect a big change in her life, but truly, she should'a listened to her mama telling her she had no business putting any trust into what that woman had to say. Tori ignored the instructions to steer clear of her tent then, but had made up for it by avoiding it entirely for the last fifteen years. That counted for something, right, Mama?

Instead, she wandered the festival grounds, savoring the smells of freshly baked teats, hand picked flowers, and honey sticks. She greets local artisans with a big smile, promising to make another round to actually purchase something and sends her Pop's regards. He hated missing the festival but promised Tori Mae's mama he'd rest this year and let Tori take care of the shop talk.

Don't blame Missy for the two cups of ale in her hands. That's on Miss Fortune. Well, maybe that isn't exactly what she said, something about not running from her future. But, when she bumped into the drinks stall, merely moments after stumbling out of that stuffy tent, it was clearly meant to be. Why would she run away from her future of pounding back a beer? Even if it doesn't has that perfect, sweet to bitter ratio that the champagne of beers, her faithful Miller High Life, has. Aritsan beers always taste a little too hops-y for her taste. Not that she's going to complain. A beer's a beer at the end of the day.

Besides, one of said cups is for the star of the hour, her very own Marigold Queen. Well, not in title. But, Tori Mae may as well be royalty in her eyes. There's a certain power in her gaze that Missy sure as hell views as regal. With a high chance of neither woman winning tonight, it only means that the pair can get good and drunk by the end of the night without having to trip and stumble on the stage.

Missy waltzes over to her darling friend near the fountain, a dainty hand extending out one of the cups as she takes a sip of her own. Too hops-y, just as she figured. If she dislikes it, it's not evident on her face. It is evident, however, in her words. "We'll have to have somethin' better after this one," she states, simple, holding up her own, clear cup to the sky. The amber liquid sparkles in the sunlight. "Maybe my picker's off. You'll have to hunt for the next one, Mae."

the acoustic tunes flowing from the jukebox are really all tully needed to get excited about being back in her hometown. leaving before she was old enough to drink, she’d never even taken as little as a step into the velvet stag before. a regret she didn’t know she had until she was sitting in front of the bar and ordering her first shot of the lowest priced whiskey on the menu. she was here for one reason and she knew she had to be on her best behavior. even so, a shot wouldn’t hurt anyone. especially tully. the moment the fire finds it’s way into the pit of her stomach, she’s spotted her first victim.

“hey, stranger. you mind if i ask you a few questions about swan lake… it’s for, uh, a documentary i’m filming about lesser known cryptids. and uh, someone told me there’s one right here at your local lake.” tully asks in a hopeful tone. if she were being completely honest to herself, she didn’t know how to go about her investigation. didn’t want to raise any red flags and she didn’t want to get labeled as crazy right off the bat. but how hard could winging this actually be? she’d spent her whole adulthood winging this thing called life and that was no slice of pie with whipped cream on top.

“if you’re not one for talking, i understand… but i got a five dollar bill with your name on it.” a grin paints across tully’s face and before the other person can get a word out. she’s already dumping a pile of useless junk from her pockets upon the surface of the bar. sifting through candy wrappers, receipts, and pennies before finding the wrinkled up face of abraham lincoln. she picks the bill up, stretching out poor abe’s face before sliding it over to the person next to her. and damn, was that luck. for a second, she thought she might have spent the money on a pack of smokes. “and if you’re still not in the mood for questions. i understand that too, believe me, but… i’m gonna need that five back.”

If there was one thing Ms. Misty Apple knew about mornings, it was that they never went according to plan. Not that she was what you’d call meticulous — Lord no, that wasn’t her style — but she did like to tell herself she was a woman with a system. Four a.m. start for the morning prep, doors open at seven sharp, afternoon prep by ten. It was a rhythm she’d been keeping time with for more years than she cared to count. A person would think, by now, she’d stop being surprised when something went sideways.

And yet, here they were.

The merengue — her beautiful, delicate, perfectly whipped, had-such-potential merengue — had the audacity to collapse in her oven. Betrayal of the highest order. Did it stop to consider her feelings? Her schedule? The tiny, flickering hope she might get through one morning without a crisis? It did not.

But Misty Apple isn't a quitter. She's a fixer. A scrappy, flour-dusted, sleep-deprived problem solver.

What she needs is another set of hands.

Haerin has done so much for Minjun, from helping him with starting up happymugs inc to moving to Bleeding Springs-- he owes his younger sister so much. Which brings him to this: starting a garden in their backyard. During their move, Haerin made it her goal to start a garden and later become a farmer. Like any proper older brother, Minjun supported her desires and wishes. He got her books, found videos, and even got all the materials. It just... never happened because of how busy Haerin became with her job.

It's okay, oppa, I'll get to it when my schedule opens up. That's what she told him, three weeks ago. And from the heavy eye bags and Haerin sitting at her work laptop 'till late at night... Minjun figured that his younger sister won't be able to start the garden anytime soon.

And that brought him to the bulletin board and requesting from some help. It's the perfect opportunity to meet others and get some help with the garden. After all, the people of Bleeding Springs love to talk and help their neighbors.

"Thank you for taking up my offer," Minjun says, leading the other around the house and to the Kim's backyard. "I don't know much about gardening, just the stuff that I've read in books and seen on Tiktok. So, I'm glad to get some help today."

Something was wrong. She didn't know why, but she knew that something was wrong.

Yes, it was pretty normal behavior for Rafael to just fuck off for a few days, and he always returned home in one piece. He often returned with more than one new injury, mind you, but, at least, his hunter blood meant he'd be back to normal after some rest. This was normal, she shouldn't be worried– at least not more than usual– and yet… she just couldn't shake the feeling.

She had tried his apartment several times over the last few days. Perks of being the asshole's neighbor, she could just head down the hall and check at any time. Each time, though, there had been no response, no sounds coming from inside, nothing. The door had also been locked because of course Raf went and fixed his ever-busted door at the most inconvenient time possible. Still, it wouldn't hurt checking again.

There were still no sounds coming from inside the apartment, even after she knocked. When she tried the handle, to her surprise, it actually turned in her hand, and that made her pause. Only after she pulled out her knife did she open the door and step in.

The apartment was a me–

DING

Hand freezing mid-word, Arden's focus is broken by the sound of the doorbell. Damn.

They don't immediately look up as they try to quickly finish the sentence they were writing while they still remember it. “Welcome to Pioneer Books,” they call kindly, pen scribbling. She glances up briefly, shooting the individual a polite smile as she finally finishes. “Anything I can help you with today?”