uncanny valley girl.

Candy pouted as though she was being scolded. It was her standard response to Vlad, who she would only allow those sort of comments from. This wasn’t remotely what she thought she would end up doing with her life. Movie star was always number one on the wishlist of course. It turned out she really enjoyed home renovation though. She was doing it right too. This wasn’t a shitty HGTV reno where the house basically fell apart after a few weeks. Then again, she’d never taken over an entire house before. It was usually just one room for another influencer. This was her next step.

vlad couldn't help smirking at candy's pout. it always amused them, which was the only real reason for the digs. that and they weren't much for the spotlight, so her whole career sort of seemed strange to them. wild, considering they were adjacent to celebrities all the time, but special effects really lended itself to a different sort of relationship with fans. sure, they'd made an occasional cameo. anyone who knew could spot tom savini would know them on the screen just as easily, but they didn't really have a media presence. it was hard to relate and easier to joke about. at least candy was still fuckin' cool and could take a joke as easily as a pr package.

zombie apocalypse au. your muse wants to leave the homestead created on weston's family ranch. connection and reason up to you!

WESTON BARNETT. 30s. he/him. bisexual. rancher.

"i have to finish my research, wes." rocío shrugged. she was being dismissive and walked quickly as if avoiding eye contact was some sort of super power that would protect her from having to hear whatever he'd prepared to sway her. she'd mentioned it was genetics research to him. she'd tried to tell the group she could make a cure, she was sure of it, but not without her old research. in reality, it was her doctoral thesis. it was genetic research, yes, but of the hybridization zone in tikaboo valley where yucca trees were being pollinated by tegeticula synthetica and antithetica. and it had fuck all to do with the outbreak, but no one was going to let her leave over her life's work if they knew it was about moths.

"puh-lease. you know i make a turtleneck look sexy." catalina practically whispered as she tried not to look over at him, smile too evident even in her hushed voice. it was hard to figure out the right wardrobe to look sophisticated and professional. she had enough working against her. it was true anyway, that's why she was usually so deeply covered up. it was weird that they'd both matched at surgical residencies in the same hospital despite their different specialties. she might've said it was fate if she wasn't so irritated that she didn't hate him anymore. it was even weirder now that both their groups were at the same bar. thankfully, since this was just residents, she'd dressed to impress.

she smirked at the subtlety of him finding the hem of her dress. red was her color for sure, though she rarely wore it in the hospital unless in the form of scrubs, which felt disingenuous now that she was a resident. anything fancier than or scrubs was the kind of bougie that people laughed at you for til you'd really made it somewhere.

"Salem," she said in reply to his question. The inflection in the way he said her name telling her it was has hard for him to believe as it was for her. Bea had searched for him, refusing to give up, refusing to let others tell her that he was gone for good. As long as there was no body, she wouldn't give up. She didn't know if he had done the same, if he had never given up on finding her again. They had found each others among the wreckage of the world once and they would again, she was certain of it. And now, Salem stood there, in flesh and not a dream and she was at a lost of what to say. Gently, her hand raised to touch him, needing to feel that he was real. "It's you, it's really you. I've looked for you, I never stopped." Her voice was breaking now, uncertain if it would end in a cry or laughter.

and yet, she was there. in front of him. not her outline or shadow. not a mirage or similar face. not a gait or the cut of her hair or a familiar style of dress. in front of him was the whole package and scent of her. his body was screaming and he wondered if his mind had finally broken. was he mad as well as haunted?

"bea?" her voice sealed it. the reality of her. because despite finding and losing her and dreaming after her, the sound of her voice had faded into some strange estimation of the truth. once her heard her voice, the memory of it flooded back and hit him like a ton of brick. he closed the distance between them quickly. he had to touch her to confirm. "what happened?" could he say much more? did he even have the words to return the question if she posed it back to him?

Something was very wrong in this place. Becca had felt it earlier when she first arrived, accompanying some friends from school, all an effort to get her to live a little, other than studying and focusing solely on work the others had managed to drag the studious witch to the music festival. It had been such a vibrant experience, the music and the energy flowing off the mass of people sharing that moment with her, it was unlike anything Becca had felt before. But there had been something else beneath the jubilant and euphoric aura of the festival, something she couldn't shake the feeling of, something dark. Her instincts on such things had rarely been incorrect in the past and Becca found herself inevitably wandering the festival grounds, seeking out the source of the thing she felt, whether it was out of studious curiosity or morbid fascination she wasn't sure but her wandering found her at the right place and at the right time.

if she'd been sober, bertie would've clocked that the bottle cracked open when she twisted the cap. she knew better than to accept a drink from a stranger, even a sweet looking girl, but since she figured she wasn't long for this world, she didn't even hesitate to take a long drink from the bottle. what did she care? she wiped her lips with the back of her hand when she was done and went back for another drink before choking on it at the suggestion of finding her friends.

"no!" she said. too desperate. too immediate.

bertie wouldn't call the people she was there with friends. not anymore. not after what she'd seen. there was a time, much to her brother's chagrin, she would've bought into the whole work family bullshit they were peddling. he'd probably have called it toxic. she was pretty sure he told her she was working for a new age-y fyre festival two, but she'd thought she'd somehow seen something deeper than that. they liked her ideas. they hung out outside of work projects and did drugs and listened to music. it seemed like maybe he was just being cynical or, maybe, jealous that she'd finally found where she fit.

only it was hollow. it was snake oil. it was worse than that even, because they were using the whole stupid event to commit murder and her work was what helped attract ... what exactly? victims? sacrifices? did the semantics even matter? she was stuck here in the middle of the desert, a little high and a little buzzed, and no one was going to believe her. surrounds by thousands of people, she was entirely alone.

slowing her breath, she massaged her brow. she had to get it together. maybe this girl had a car or ... a friend with a car? maybe an airbnb nearby or miles away? but no one was going to take a crazy girl ranting about ritualistic killings home with them. she had to get her shit together even if her mind felt like it was working through sand to form a single coherent thought between the adrenaline and booze and molly.