#rivhers

it's just too quiet. and he is thinking about that quiet when it's broken. emil blinks his eyes open and stares up into the darkness. there it is again...the sound of disturbed underbrush and snapping twigs. he sits up slowly, sliding his hand into his bag to wrap his fingers around his gun. he cants his head to the side the moment he senses kendra's mind is alert. he hisses down at her, barely audible ❝ what the fuck is that? ❞

padding through the great room and out onto the stone laid porch, the soft sound of guitar comes to a halt, & she greets ellie's lifted head with a gentle smile. "mmm don't stop on my account," evelyn encourages. a cup of coffee warms her hands. there's a rocking chair there, JUST FOR HER. so worn in it probably smells like her. it's where she watches the land. her family. her favourite place on the whole damn property. she takes a sit in it. "what'chya playin', ellie belly?"

❝   I TOLD YOU ...   ❞ she props her shoulder into the hinge of the doorway, body weight resting against it with a languidness that suggests her life hasn't been dangled like a piece of meat in a lions den several times in the past twenty four hours. it's only simple to do because she was trained how to be nothing and everything all at the same time. a person with no face, but a face anybody would let their guard down to. luckily, it pays off even when the adrenaline creates a hole in the place where her beating organ rests. she rolls her neck out. A CON-JOB SMIRK FASTENED TO HER LIPS. ❝   that the next time you saw me, you wouldn't be expecting me.   ❞

﹙ @rivhers, taryn ﹚

* .℧ ﹠ G. OWENS , ❝   rory, no!   ❞ genevieve shouts, sparing a half-look over her shoulder to ensure she hasn't drawn any further unwanted attention, before she latches onto rory's arm with a white-knuckled grasp. the words live and die on her tongue. barely room to breathe, let alone to form. SHE'S COVERED IN BLOOD. crimson stained from head to toe. if she wasn't gripping rory so hard she swears her hands might even be shaking too and not because of what she had to do, no, but because of what she fears will reflect in HER DAUGHTERS eyes when she realizes what she's done. ( she can't ever realize what i've done— ) with her body, gen blocks the path. twenty some odd feet and the secret is out. bent at the waist, she becomes eye level ... AN INTENSITY IN HER GREEN STARE. there isn't a mirror in sight, however, she's positively certain rory has never seen her look so grave, so serious in the decade+ they have spent in one another's lives. even before she says anything at all she's begging the girl with her eyes to please not put up a fight. not with the beginnings of wild chaos she can hear in the distance. ❝   we have to go.   ❞ fingers clutch rory's shirt sleeves a little tighter. A SINGLE NOD TO FOLLOW, as if encouraging her to follow suit; like she did when she was a little girl ... and gen was still fresh-faced to gore and death. neither of which are true anymore, but there's something eerie about the contrast. ❝   we have to go NOW.   ❞

admittedly, dana's watched her all day— in and out of patient rooms, zig-zagging across the ER like it's any other day, but there's something different. something just a little off. she doesn't let it bother her. there's bigger fish to fry than a doctor with a few too many thoughts, EVEN IF THOSE THOUGHTS SHOULD'VE BEEN LEFT AT THE FRONT DOOR. hell, dana knows ... not all of them can be. sometimes, against all of ones better judgement, against all the damn good in their heart, there will be days where there's one foot already past the threshold the first minute into shift. that's life. SO, SHE LETS IT GO. hours pass. til she's pushing the clicker of the pen and it hits her, and a smirk tugs at the corner of her lips before she can even get the words out. the nostalgic type. the kind that prefaces a goodbye, but the goodbye hasn't been said yet. ❝   y'know, it's alright t'let things go, mrs. hotchner.   ❞ purposefully, she doesn't call her doctor quinn. after all, doctor quinn is who cali is in these walls, but that longing the redheaded doctor wears in her eyes is unmistakable; and it's all mrs hotchner. + @rivhers

a horrible question that daniel could have several horrible answers for. he's an alcoholic, sometimes recovering, sometimes not. he was adopted into a family of rich pricks who didn't love him, not really. but that saved him from the worst answer of all, which was that that family made a deal with the devil, tried to murder his brother's ex wife, and exploded when they couldn't get the job done. he was the last of his line, the only le domas left. she didn't know any of that, he thought. and he didn't want to tell her, either. 'you might have better chances of asking what you do know about me,' daniel expressed, shaking an empty glass toward her. 'perhaps if you buy me a drink, i'd be more persuaded to tell you a story,' @rivhers.

Sweet face, wild energy.