#stefan.

@honeyrodsoflandtown @landtownbabe

leah was on time. this was worth mentioning, both because she almost never was, and because no one else was. except stefan, of course, but stefan didn’t count, because not only was stefan always on time, but stefan was always early, and never concerned about being early because he always had so much work to do and he’d stay on his clunky old laptop halfway into dinner, anyway, so it was basically like he was actually always late, so really, it was just leah, and she was on time, and compared to everyone else, she was early, and it was a miracle. 

pickles were on the table in front of her. the bartender had offered leah chips, but eating before everybody arrived felt off. eating alone had always made leah feel lonely; nobody should eat without having someone to eat along with, that was what her mother used to say. so she sat and looked at the pickles she’d ordered to be polite, because she may be punk rock but true punk rock supported local businesses, and she flicked her black lacquered thumb nail against the stained redwood of the bar and waited for her family to arrive. the sound of stefan’s typing -- mostly the unmistakable clack clack clack clack clack of repetitive backspacing -- kept her company, before she finally heard the sound of the door swinging open. 

spinning around on the barstool, leah grinned at the approaching figure -- one of her own, just as she’d hoped! -- and promptly threw open her arms for a hug. 

“i’m so glad you’re here,” she whined. “i thought i was going to be alone with stefan all night.” 

“well, that is incredibly hurtful.” stefan said, but his tone was flat, and his eyes never left his computer screen. 

“where have you been?! family dinner night at seven means family dinner night at seven.” briefly having the higher ground on punctuality had clearly gone to leah’s head. “i’m hungry!” 

               FEAR / REMORSE, —— Something the svelte female had yet to endure, two emotions that she had deemed tedious, thus enabling the determination to stray from being burdened by them. Fawn took pride in the heinous acts of violence she committed, whether the pain be inflicted upon a walker or a fellow civilian, the female treated it as a sport. In fact, the only time she actually felt something was when BLOOD from another stained her clothing and the faded wood of her baseball bat, which explains the current euphoric high surging through her veins. &. despite the fact that lissome digits are splayed out in an act of surrender, it’s evident that the sheer innocence she was displaying was merely fabricated, a sense of PRIDE dancing within the cerulean hues that surveyed the elder male standing less than a few feet before her. There wasn’t a chance in hell that she would allow herself to falter, despite the crippling desire to lunge forward and take the male in her grasp, to make it known that she had missed him and was relieved to find him alive. Instead, Fawn was going to act as though she hadn’t remembered him, as if he were nothing to her.

❛ no, ❜ he responds, voice comically serious. ❛ i feel it as a crime being committed. why, do you know someone specific who's recently broken italian law? if so, they must be brought to justice. ❜

he'd been pacing since he'd woken up in this odd little room, fingers curiously probing at cell walls which seemed to glow and respond to touch, only to sputter and cough when one of the pulsing veins had split at his touch, bursting with a powdery substance. since, he'd been unnaturally warm, tugging at the collar of his shirt and feeling as if he'd explode in his own skin. by the time someone else stands at what must be an entrance to the room, he's tugging the offending fabric over his head. "what the fuck is wrong with me?" he murmurs.