She is literally this close to punching something, and the longer the person in front of her continues to talk? The more likely it’s becoming that Hayley will be punching them. “Do you ever stop talking?” It’s ground out through an annoyed huff of air, eyes setting into a glare. There are so many more important things to deal with and she’s here discussing petty things? Christ. “Look -- I have things to do so if we can wrap this up, that’d be great.”

If there was one thing being dead made you miss, it was sleep. Such a small thing, something you usually take for granted, something you push away and avoid doing. Something so irrevocably human that he wasn’t sure any other species could do it. It’s been years, but Tate never got used to not sleeping, as sleep was a huge part of his life. He used to sleep for days. He slept through classes, through meals, through everything, simply because he could. He can’t anymore. When he first died he used to lie dormant for hours waiting for sleep to come, but it just felt like trying to go to bed at eight in the afternoon when you’re more of a four am type of person. It’s excruciating. It’s weird, because when he was anchored to the murder house, he still had a form of sleep, not exactly, but close. He used to disappear for hours at a time, randomly, and he never remembered what happened during those hours. Perhaps he was sleeping, but there was never  dream to remember. Or, maybe, those were the hours he did awful things. Regardless, he doesn’t have those hours anymore. He remembers everything. Every hour of every fucking day and it’s beginning to drive him even more insane than he already is, and that’s saying something. Tate was sat on the roof of an apartment building in Downtown New Orleans, watching the cars and the drunk people pass by, his legs dangling off the edge of the four story building as if falling was a foreign term. Maybe that’s because the fall couldn’t kill him, no fall could. When he heard the creaking of the latter. Someone was coming up. He didn’t turn to face them as he he heard their approach.

Katherine had been sitting on one of the bar stools, her elbows resting against the wood as she had her bourbon glass in her hand. She wasn’t sure why, but for some reason she felt extremely down that night. She felt forgotten about. For some reason Kol’s voice of no one having spoken about her while she was dead had suddenly gotten to her. She was alone. Stefan probably hated her, even if he had his humanity off. Her daughter Nadia was d e a d, and she wasn’t sure how the hell she was supposed to cope with that. The only one who had seemed to share some signs of kindness towards the brunette was gone, and she didn’t know how to bring the girl back. The other side was gone after all, so how was she going to find a way if there obviously wasn’t one? She tapped her fingertips against the glass she held, only to wrap her hand around it and lift it to her lips. Carefully she sipped on it before placing it down on the bar and a loud sigh left her lips. “God my life’s a mess.” She found herself mumbling to herself, before running a hand across her face. It was something she had gotten herself into, and deep down she knew that she deserved it, still she wouldn’t admit it. Her head snapped into the direction of the person sitting next to her, noticing that they had been looking at her and she frowned. “What do you want?” She found herself asking, the tone in her voice clearly annoyed.

Madison was tired. She had experienced one hell of a day and felt a decent mixture of tired and almost giddy, but on the outside, she just looked exhausted and pissed off. Sure, her outfit was cute, but the bags under her eyes were bigger than the ones on her arm. To hide this fact she wore giant sunglasses propped on her small nose. She had just gone out to get a coffee, but naturally this lead to a whole shopping escapade. Madison sighed at her own lack of self control and continued the walk to her car. It was a nice day out, relatively so, it wasn’t too cold nor too hot, there was a nice breeze. She was enjoying this when out of nowhere something slammed into her from behind, making her stumble slightly before regaining her balance and turning to face the person with a blazing anger and annoyance.

Madison didn’t have plans, but she was always doing something. She always found some activity to entertain her thoughts, whether it be drinking or partying or sex, she was always involved. Today was different. Madison found herself in a mental state somewhere between manic and dead. It seemed as if there was no lack of monotonous energy to drown out her thoughts on this particular day. Although she supposed she should have guessed it, it was a Thursday. Against popular belief Thursday’s were the dullest of all the days of the week, it was the fleeting moment stuck between a week day and a weekend. It was the day were everyone was hustling to finish their work before their Friday deadlines. Madison had no deadlines, and no where to be, just places others want her to be. Usually she would take this as an invitation and find solace in the bottom of a shot glass, but for some reason this day was refusing her, forcing her to stay sober and stay alone, which was very unusual. Madison’s always hated solitude, it gives much too time to think and there is nothing uglier than the inside of her brain. She had a belief that when she was born, all her beauty radiated the outside of her body, leaving nothing but a cold, decrepit, ugly shell on the inside, which she doesn’t mind. A hot brain doesn’t get you laid. So it was on this afternoon of forced isolation that Madison found herself strolling around a deserted, or so she thought, playground with a cigarette in her mouth. She blew smoke from her nose as she heard the crack of a twig behind her. Madison kept her back to the cause of the sound. Judging by the force of the crack, she assumed it was person as opposed to a dog or a bird. She gave a hollow shrug to the thought and instead decided to speak aloud.