#bulletballet

Plsssss 🥺

she hands the bartender a few hundred dollar bills,   and tells him to leave the bottle of rey sol añejo on the counter.     she’s on her third shot when a familiar figure takes a seat on the stool next to hers.

❝    you’re,   uh━━    ❞      she can’t seem to remember his name no matter how hard she tries.      ❝    delores’s guy,   aren’t you?    ❞

Kent arcs an eyebrow at Eve’s question, but his smile continues to persist. He is, for now at the very least, still in good humor. This was not the kind of conversation they were supposed to be having whatsoever-- he was technically at work, albeit the only signifier of this fact being the clipboard still propped up in his bony hands. Ah, but they were having such pleasant causerie... And it was highly likely the lead he’d been whisked out here to follow up on was a dud. Like all the others.

A little chuckle proceeds his answer. “I think I do well in maintaining a narrow margin for error between the two personas, as they were...” Kent slips his work accoutrements into some interior pocket of his trenchcoat as he talks, finally abandoning all pretense that he was doing any kind of labor. “But I do know that I’m an ambitious, career-minded, stable, well-to-do kind of fellow. I mind my P’s and Q’s, all that.” Kent flashes a grin-- bright and unfortunately genuine, a sign he was all too caught up in the delight said self brought him.

📱 I WAS MADE FOR DANCIN'! 📱

Still Accepting.

✨ @bulletballet. meme. still accepting!

😊 for likable quality for a role play mun to have.

i get really annoyed with people that are like ' omg we should totally rp whats ur discord?!?!?! ' and all that shit and then i give it to them, which is insanity because i dont post my discord here so im pretty tightlipped about it until asked, and then i legit never hear from them again or they dont reply to me glkfjdgklf. a clear line of communication is required even if it's once a week and is like 15 seconds long lol. but i'd like to know someone's thoughts on our threads or whatever.

           Vernon Kennedy is a guy who always knows a guy. But the trouble is, that guy ain’t always the best guy for the job. 

           For this reason, Delores, Sal, and Vernon are left alone in the too-big kitchen of an empty North Vegas McMansion with echoing floors and high ceilings. The realtor is currently out front on his cellphone having an extremely strained conversation, pacing like a chicken, antenna bobbing in the driveway. Vernon, watching from the window, suspects marital issues, and figures he’ll just leave him to it and maybe sell him less coke.

          “Pretty sweet, huh? Picture it with a TV and a fish tank over here somewhere. Awesome,” he says, and scratches his chin. Eventually, his eyes drift to the realtor’s clipboard and he flicks through it too fast to read much. When he gets bored of this, he starts opening cupboards and peeking inside at the empty shelves under the sink.

          “Five thousand square feet and some change, five bedrooms, more bathrooms than you’re gonna know what to do with, hot tub with room for three - just saying - and I can tell you for a fact nobody’s been murdered here.”

           A pause.