— 𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐬.

                                                   — 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐔. —                    BIOGRAPHY ✦ STATISTICS ✦ CONNECTIONS ✦ FULL NAVIGATION                                                                  psd credit: joutscn

time: 17:06 location: café du temple availability: open ( @paristarters​ )

He’s sat outside, accompanied only by that of a black coffee, tucked somewhere between the fifth and sixth chapter. There’s a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips - unlit, his hands yet to retrieve the stainless steel lighter from his front pocket. When he brings it upwards, his thumb clicks repetitively; his features contorting with annoyance when the flame never comes.             “Excuse me,” he addresses to a nearby individual, returning the faulty item to his pockets. His attention is elsewhere for the most part. The features of the opposing individual yet to resonate. “You wouldn’t happen to have a lighter, would you?”

She’s keeping herself company — cup of coffee, chocolate croissant, emails that spam her inbox and keep an angry red notification blemish on her phone’s screen. Her original company has already departed, leaving her to ruminate over potential dates of networking dinners and business propositions somewhere between a bite of the croissant and a deleted email from the AARP, which is swearing it’s time for her to go ahead and register. She only takes the slightest bit of offense to it.

Victoria glances around for a moment at the voice, supposing everyone but herself is the target of the voice — she’s learned to not consider herself that important all of the time, always the designated conversation — before realizing they are, in fact, addressing her. “Oh,” she mutters mostly to herself as she swivels in her chair. Wide eyes meet his as she processes his request. “Yeah, give me—just a second.” Her hand plummets into the bag that’s hanging off of her chair, fishing around for her go-to lighter that she rarely leaves the house without. Fingers wrap around it and fish it from the bag, extending it out to him. Her eyes flicker in the direction of his book only for a split moment. “Your book any good?” 

starter closed: @victcrias​

location: somewhere in élysée

she’s squatting down in front of a ginger cat that caught her attention by rubbing it’s torso and face against her leg as she walked by. the brunette couldn’t help but greet such a sweet soul, crouching down to the animals level as it rolled onto its side, exposing it’s belly to the sun — enjoying the scratches that followed. she stays there for a while, unable to pull herself way from the soft fur and gentle purring vibrations emitted from the cat, stretching out it’s frame to indicate where he wanted to be scratched. sigrid was unsure where the feline came from, there were many houses along the street, but the tag on his collar indicated his name was felix. after a few more moments of ignoring the pain shooting up the side of her calf, suddenly sigrid see’s the shadow of a figure step into her field of vision. looking up, partially obstructed by the gleam of the sun, stands a person. “est-ce votre chat ??” sigrid posses the question up towards the stranger, moving her hand to scratch just under the cats ear, “i’m not sure where he came from. but he’s a sweetheart.”

It’s the kind of afternoon where Victoria finds herself walking around the neighborhood just for something to do, something to keep herself occupied in the abyss of nothingness she’s swam her way into — despite having plenty on her plate, waiting to be devoured, this is how she’s spending the time. Her ponytail swishes along her back, hallmark of the buoyant stroll she’s taking down the sidewalk, the sole earbud sifting through mid-nineties hip hop and her favorite Hall and Oates song for a jarringly unpredictable soundtrack. She slows her pace, removing the earbud as she approaches the obstruction in her path. It’s a woman, bent down and petting what a closer proximity reveals to be a cat. Victoria smiles politely, hands rooting into her pockets. “Non, pas le mien,” she resounds, shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare as she looks about the houses, trying to recall the names and faces of their occupants and whether or not they’d possibly be missing a cat that is much too comfortable in the presence of humans to be a stray. “He sure has taken a liking to you, it seems. Got you right where he wants ‘ya.” Victoria glances back down at the woman. “Surely he hasn’t made it too far from home?”

Mallory grew up in a rather volatile house. She was always content with the fact that she would be an only child for the majority of her life, and that was fine by her. But, having befriended Victoria, she could see some of the appeal for having a sibling. Mallory had fallen into a younger sibling role with ease, not that it was hard. She could be pesky, she was much more immature, and she was a bit of a project at times. But, all the same, she’d give her right arm for Victoria if necessary, and would still pick on her in the same breath. 

Really, despite everything, ending up friends with Victoria was one of the very few and very thin silver linings she could think of with coming off her injury. Plus, she could drink and Mallory respected that.

“Come on, Swayze is a perfect little bundle of furry joy, and you can’t convince me otherwise.” She probably could, but Mallory wanted to live in the fantasy world that Victoria’s puppy was just that perfect in comparison to her unruly cat Fantine only adorned with such a name thanks to the missing part of her ear. It was reminiscent of some Les Mis character in Mallory’s eyes. “I’m not too bad. Although, it seems I continue to not be the best at making friends,” She mused, thinking to her little spat in the market earlier in the week.

Having Mallory in her life filled a void she could not adequately fill at this stage in her life. It was a yearning that Victoria could feel deep in the bones of her feet if she allowed herself to reach for it, allowed it to actually evoke some sort of feeling after years of turning it off and swallowing it down. Being a big sister never truly left her code. It was almost as though sweeping Mallory under her wing gave her the fix that she needed, pouring something into the space she found herself empty to a point of ache. She’d tolerate all the bullshit, no matter how many times she rolled her eyes or let the small things burrow under her skin if it meant she had someone like Mallory.

If she had Mallory herself — no one else would do.  

“Only on some days,” Victoria countered. “More than willing to rent him out on the not so joyous days if you’re interested — my pillows sure could use a break from his terror every now and again.” She knew that Mallory’s base of comparison was her cat, and while Victoria felt too much too akin to a feline herself to ever be able to habitat with one in any form of peace, it still very much felt as though the grass would always be greener on the other side for each of them and their furry companions. Mallory’s response intrigued her. “Yeah?” Victoria’s eyebrows shifted upwards in question, a bemused sort of expression coloring her face. One of her elbows planted into the table as she leaned forward, mischievous grin beginning to pull along her lips. Her far from nonchalant way to pry more rolled off her tongue easily: “Why do you say that?” 

Camille was finding it rather difficult to be at home these days. Not because the warmth of her bed wasn’t welcome, or she didn’t enjoy the view from her second-floor balcony. Not even because she felt alone. It was the fact that when she was alone, she didn’t have the option to shut her brain off. 

While the woman had once found comfort in a warm bubble bath, no amount of candles or incense could seem to distract her from reality. No show or movie could hold her attention long enough to drown out the thoughts and the feelings, and emptiness. She was missing her best friends. She was missing her brothers. And the weight of their absence was almost too much for the woman to bear. If she didn’t keep herself busy, Camille didn’t know how much more she would be able to take.

As the model made her way down the sidewalk towards Café du Temple, she tried her best to focus on the menu she had come to memorize, rather than thoughts of her family or of her grief. That is until a woman’s voice grabbed a hold of her attention entirely and she found herself grateful for the chance to drown out her inner monologue entirely.

Turning on her heels, Camille only needed a second or two to study the woman’s features before she was able to place the brunette in her mind. Although just for an evening, she had encountered Victoria at her last celebrity event – a party that had been hosted in honour of the Olsen twins and their most recent trip to Paris. 

“Oh, I remember you! Victoria, right? The one who got me inebriated and allowed me to talk their ear off about New York Minute?”

It’s nice that she still runs into people that don’t pose as sour memories lingering on her tongue. New York, LA, London — there are places there she can’t step foot in, streets that have giant, ugly red marks across the signs deterring her away because she’s got a past there that she doesn’t want to revisit or have trailing in her shadows. There are people she’s blocked for the most trivial things, because they service as reminders she does not want. It’s nice that Paris isn’t so far removed from what she knows at the end of the day. 

It means that she can still feel like she has an iota of control over her life, and not the kind that she gets when she’s backed into a corner and faced with a fight or flight ultimatum. Things still feel somewhat like they’re supposed to.

Even though she’s kind of shot that all to hell.

The memory floods her brain, fuzzy and alcohol soaked and yet still glistening with the vision of the Olsen twins in a dark room, shoes that pinched her feet, and a blonde wearing a distinct perfume that Victoria found herself sidled up next to in a debate at the bar about whether or not approaching Mary Kate and Ashley with age old, childhood burning questions would result in them getting bounced from the party.

“Guilty as charged,” Victoria admits, and she can’t fight the amused grin that sprawls across her face. “Hey — if they didn’t want to talk through their beyond stellar filmography, they wouldn’t have entertained it as long as they did. I still think you were this close to cracking one of them and getting all the dirt.” It’s a memory and a smile that eases her into something familiar. “Do you live here full time? With the...” It slips her for a brief second, and then returns with another intent look at the woman in front of her. Earth shatteringly gorgeous. Only one answer to that. “Modeling, isn’t it?”

Coming back and forth between drinking and not drinking has been a constant in his life. As constant as seeing his father every morning at work, or as constant as he skipped on his classes back in high school. Ambrose could give you a map of all the bars and nightclubs in the city, what kind of crowd they had, if their drinks were good or crap. The amount of tourists that would be ready to snap some Tiktoks or photos for their Instagram accounts. 

Little Red Door is small and almost a secret to him. It’s one the few places that he feels he can sit down and watch Paris St. Germain games without a loud crowd booing or cheering. Something he orders an amaretto sour and spends hours looking at reports in his iPad. 

There is another reason why he loves Little Red Door so much, but he is not surprised that it’s been weeks since she’s been to the bar. Unlike Ambrose, who has found himself here after work at least twice a week since what he likes to call the incident. He is very much aware of why she hasn’t shown, but even so, when he hears her greeting and feels her approaching him, he bites down on his bottom lip, trying to ignore the smile that is tugging at the ends of his lips. 

“I feel like ignoring you is the way to go after you disappear off the face of the earth like that.” Ambrose mumbles, looking serious as ever until he finally looks up at her and a soft grin is on his lips. He wants to be awkward and a part of him feels like he should be. But there’s something so familiar about seeing her under the dim light of the bar, her features bright and soft when she almost seems nervous for the first time since they met. 

He gestures for the sit next to his with his head and then waves the bartender over since he’s almost sure she already has a drink in mind. “You’re better than me, by the way. I’ve taken it very personal that you haven’t showed up in weeks.” 

It’s not like she’s proud of herself after what she’s done. 

His face has plagued her since It happened. If anything, it’s served as a kind reminder that she is not so lucky as to escape a doomed, repetitive cycle that she’ll be trapped to for all her days — or, if she’s beyond her pessimism, that something that seemed so right could go in every direction but, and would go in every direction but. She’s thought about stopping by but found her excuses not to. It’s on a whim, a deluded assurance to herself that she’s even stepped foot here. Victoria knew that eventually, the music would have to be faced. It’s not that she doesn’t want to face it; she’d love to move beyond it and bury it, but there’s an itch that tells her this is the type of thing that would dig up its own grave to haunt or.

Or she’s just the brand of melodramatic that all actors she knows falls prey to eventually. Either or. She kind of hates herself for him once she gets past all the discomfort that now sticks to him.

“Didn’t figure you’d want to see me after...well, you know,” she mutters sheepishly, a heavy emphasis on what she does not want to name. She slides into the seat beside him, only lifting her chin in the bartender’s newfound presence. “Whiskey sour.” Once the bartender parts to fulfill her order, Victoria finds that she can look everywhere, it seems, but at him. Something in her urges a soft, apologetic half-smile across her lips — maybe it’s because this is what she’s used to whenever in his company, and her muscle memory is far too tough to defeat in the spite of new developments. Maybe it’s because she’s just glad he’s still willing to acknowledge her. “I thought about coming by,” Victoria explains futilely, her way of stringing together a half-assed, barely there apology without having to admit to herself that she’d made a bad situation worse. “Just...didn’t. Kinda wanted to avoid this conversation.” 

Her blunt nails scratch at the skin on the nape of her neck. “So,” she intones dryly after a pause, unable to find anything else in her arsenal to launch. “On a scale from one to ten, how irritated would you be if I had the balls to ask how you’ve been?”

location: Le Meurice Restaurant with: @victcrias​ 

When a mutual friend had suggested that they thought Luca and Victoria would get along swimmingly, the man trusted his friend’s judgement, really never having been swayed in a bad direction before. Luca, himself had started to think about the laurels of settling down, but there were still parts of him that were hesitant for reasons that he battled with in private. Still, a blind date wouldn’t have hurt and if anything it was just nice to be out for the evening at what seemed to be a prestigious hot spot. The restaurant was another suggestion from the friend who really wanted Luca to knock it out of the park. He didn’t know if he should have found the notion endearing or if he should have been insulted. Luca thought he had a presence about him that was always polite and gentle. He never really felt awkward around other people and if he did he found ways to cheerfully steer the conversation along until the feelings subsided. But apparently, his date would have seen right through it, or at least had the professional cues to know and tell if he wasn’t being genuine in his feelings. 

To Luca, he had just taken that statement as if his date had been burned one too many times, perhaps just having a whole stack of red flags she looked out for. But he had it set in his mind that tonight would be a good time. Nothing could go wrong when there was good food and good wine. 

As the time approached for the reservation and their agreeed upon time that fit with their schedules, Luca waited outside of the restaurant, marveling at the decor and the lights that made the place that much more inviting. He was told that he would know his date had arrived by the way her dimples would expose themselves when she smiled, and her voice in itself was unique. His friend didn’t elaborate on the unique voice, but again, Luca blindly trusted the call. It was then that he saw a brunette approaching him, eyes curious and bright, though the tell-tale sign of her smile with brilliant dimples made him aware that this must have been her. “Victoria?” He questioned for a moment before relaxing at the confirmation. “Un tel plaisir de vous rencontrer.” He kissed both of her cheeks, before holding the door open for her. “After you.” 

Getting back on the horse hurt.

Not that she’d admit it to anyone, let alone herself, but the bruises from her past rounds in the ring of relationships still had their aches, still gave her pain in the backs of her teeth, her forehead, her chest. Relationships were jinxed for her, each one reaching a conclusion all the more melodramatic and garish than the next. The ostentatious nature of how her relationships dissolved almost overshadowed the glow of a new prospect.

Almost.

She wasn’t Victoria Moreau if she didn’t keep herself on the radar of a next, of another tryst in the age old attempt of getting it right. ( It never occurs to her that perhaps she’s not meant for a ring on her finger and a lifetime of being settled. That would imply she’s thinking north of the equator, and she’s notorious for doing the exact opposite. ) So, when someone suggested a blind date, promising her that it wouldn’t go down in a holy inferno, she was obliged to go along with it. At the very least, it kept her legs from growing stiff. So she did her hair, put on a dress, and made her way to the destination of the evening.

Luca wasn’t hard to spot, his presence etching a grin across her face at the sound of her name. This was what she was good for. The smiles, the charm, the allure. “Oui,” she resounded kindly, propping onto the balls of her feet to reciprocate his faire la bise. “Le plaisir est pour moi.” She felt her smile deepen into the sides of her cheeks, her gesture of gratitude as she walked into the restaurant. “What a pick,” she complimented once inside next to him. “Any reason here?”

« ☆ starter for @victcrias​ »

STATUS: closed LOCATION: outside le comptoir DATE/TIME: saturday evening

        “Well, well, well.. if it isn’t Victoria Moreau in the flesh,” Meliha’s lips curl upwards in amusement as she waves to the all too recognisable brunette standing a mere few feet away from her, a puff of smoke billowing from her chest. Dropping her near completed cigarette to the floor to put it out with the sole of her shoe, she’s then diligent about picking it up to put it where it belongs - in the garbage can nearby. “It’s been.. what, four? Five years?” They’d crossed paths many moons ago during an event her company was working on back in New York, and she’d always taken a liking to Victoria’s personality. More often than not, celebrities were entitled and hard work to monitor and build a relationship with. She much preferred working for companies where fame wasn’t quite as involved. But Victoria had always had this down-to-earth element that Mila felt humbled her.        Two souls, so similar, yet so different. 

The lazy tendrils of smoke curl up into the black of night, Victoria shifting her sights towards the sound of her name — it reveals a sight to be had, eyes glimmering in the dying embers of her cigarette as Mila comes into view. Bumping into a familiar face always boded well, far better than the faces of those with camera lenses or grudges to set loose. Especially when the face belonged to someone like Mila, someone who had walked a similar path in an entirely different set of shoes. 

“Same could be said about you, y’know,” Victoria grins, holding her cigarette at length between her fingers as smoke leaves her lips with the breath of each word. “Too long, I’d say.” Her head tilts to the sight in contemplation, edges of hair brushing against her shoulder blade. “Probably closer to five? But who’s counting?” She steps closer, free arm pulling Mila closer to kiss her on the side of each cheek in greeting. “Shame I’m just running into you now, though. How’re things?” 

Location: Jardin du Luxembourg Starter for: @paristarters​

It felt like it wasn’t often lately that Adem managed to get some time in peace and quiet. When he was working, it was full on, he went from pillar to post and back again, bouncing off the walls from being over caffinated and filling every second of his day with work to keep his mind occupied. At home, he was looking after his niece, doing something to keep her dog alive, entertaining his sister and doing anything she decided it would be good for him to do. But for one afternoon, Adem had nothing. A blissful afternoon of nothing.

Relaxing back to rest on his backpack, Adem looked out at the Jardin du Luxembourg, easily his favourite place in the whole of the city. It was cold, probably too cold to have laid out a picnic blanket and be laying down by a tree, but as the winter sun shone down, he could just about pretend it was warm enough. Closing his eyes, the man took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind when as quickly as the sun had come, it was blocked by a shadow. “God, you are blocking the one minute of sun we are getting this winter, can you move?” 

Winter was far from Victoria’s favorite season, but if she had her pick, winter sun triumphed over winter dreariness any day. It was the very thing she’d used to convince herself to take a walk past the Jardin du Luxembourg after a meeting on this end of the city. Fresh air. Vitamin D. The tiniest of things to be grateful for, to soak in as much as possible, to stop for a brief moment and capture the serenity of the mundanely stunning moment with a quick photo on her phone: only to be dampened by a less than delightful comment from behind her.

"’Mean, I suppose I could, only if it would thaw out your—” Victoria’s words faltered to a dead end as the synapses in her brain began to fire off upon spinning on her heel, recognition alighting across her face. “Oh,” she said softly, lips pressing together in a thin line that she wasn’t positive would pass as the starting of a smile. “Hey.” Discomfort trickled down her spine and rooted her to the spot — it had been awhile, and each time she saw Adem it was as though she’d caught a glimmer of a life that for her, had ended and somehow kept going all in the same. This was new terrain for the two of them as just the two of them. Un-navigated, uncharted, and utterly fucking frightening with the thought of the bottom dropping out from under their feet at any given moment with the slightest of missteps.  

The woman was possibly one of the prettiest people Juno had ever seen. They were taken aback by the kindness in her eyes, which were a deep hazel, and the way she carried herself, relaxed and without tension; unlike Juno who was often tense. They were so immediately star-struck that they had forgotten what they had asked. Luckily, it wasn’t a difficult conversation to follow.

“Right,” they breathed, relaxing in the suit for the first time since they put it on. “Hi.” It was a little bit awkward, they way that they couldn’t stop staring at the woman so they immediately flickered their eyes to something else in a desperate attempt to not seem strange. “Thank you for the tip.” They’d forgotten practically any discomfort they’d felt beforehand. Now all they could focus on was the woman in front of them. 

The breath of relief that they took seemed to shift their entire disposition — it gave Victoria some satisfaction to see an edge taken off. It was the simplest of things she could do, really, to offer a smile or a kind word to ease some of their tension. She remembered what it was like to hold weight and value in appearance, remembered what it was like to stand in front of the mirror and fear too much or too little of the outfit. She’d learned it was the person in the outfit that mattered most, not the couture, and her relationship with fashion had shifted on its axis. Even the slightest nudge in the right direction to give to someone else felt like she was simply passing it along. 

As the seconds ticked by in studying the other, Victoria felt a sense of recognition, a face that belonged to someone she’d passed by or seen somewhere before that she could not place, but would in time once a name or a date or a location revealed itself. She offered a small half-wave to accompany her smile at them. “You’re welcome,” she replied in earnest, fingers paused in their perusal of the racks. Her head tipped in their direction with a knowing nod in reference to the suit. “Got a big occasion coming up?” 

❛ ☾ ◟━ LOCATION: monceau park ❛ ☾ ◟━ TIME: afternoon ❛ ☾ ◟━ STATUS: closed for victoria moreau / @victcrias​

If there’s one thing Lida’s been trying to work on the moment she was exposed to her family’s business was WORK-LIFE BALANCE. What does that mean? Was it all a ruse from those artificial, yet flashy LinkedIn posts? Or those Instagram stories that promote the whole health is wealth? Lida’s a realist and she believed that everyone struggled with that concept and only showcased what they want others to believe. However, she’s also a perfectionist and wanted to excel in said lifestyle. It wasn’t THAT perfect, but it was impressive in a sense where she was capable of doing it all. Raising a child, running a business, socializing, the list went on and all. 

It was a DOUBLE EDGED sword though.

Currently in Monceau Park with Victoria, the two were out for their afternoon stroll with Swayze and Duke. Watching their dogs interact and play amongst themselves, Lida briefly glanced at her phone as she received a notification and frowned. “Mon Dieu…” she muttered under her breath. Looking around she was on the search before meeting Vic’s gaze, “Did you check your phone? It’s like she’s out here on the hunt…” Living in Élysée meant encountering and involving one self with almost all of Parisian upper class, unfortunately the neighbourhood had some habitants who loved to do show and tell…Which turns into a SHOW OFF and tell. “Madame Dupont has been inviting me to these dinner parties and I’ve been making an excuse for each one. I’ve only been here for a month and she just never quits…Are you going?! Cause that means I have to go, I refuse to let you suffer alone. Actually have you been to them? Are they even worth it?”

Victoria watches Swayze, running ‘round and ‘round until she dizzies herself.

It’s a cycle she’s found herself victim to once before, the majority of her life spent on a hamster wheel that’s given her all of the fulfillment she can imagine and yet, hollowed her out. It’s why she’s a little over two years deep in her Paris excursion, roots sprawling out as she waters them lazily and refuses to email her agent back. The scripts hurt her brain, the emails hurt her eyes, and frankly, she’s had her fill. She’s content to wait for now, no longer hustling into a next and a next next the way she did at eighteen. Instead, she makes wine and draws horrid label ideas on the back of napkins and sits with Lida at the park, watching their dogs chase each other. 

It’s a simpler version of her life, and yet somehow, it seems richer. “Madame Dupont?” Victoria echoes, followed by the lazy roll of her eyes. “I think I went once back when I first got here. Kind of a rite of passage, kind of a waste of an evening.” A wicked smirk curls at her lips. “Personally, I think you don’t truly know what you’re getting yourself into unless you stick it out and go. I’ll go with you, of course — gotta have someone to sneak you extra liquor when she makes us all go around the table and tell everyone our latest accomplishment.” A small laugh builds in her throat as she ponders on the memory, the expectation. “I’m willing to bend time a little if it means I can use my I finally made it to the bottom of a nail polish bottle fact.”

Mallory enjoyed going out with friends. Most of the time she avoided spending too much time out and about, but when alcohol was involved, it made it that much easier to maintain her sanity under all the eyes of strangers. It was even better when the person who invited her out was Victoria. she was a good friend, though older than her. It was kind of like having a sister, an idea that only occasionally graced Mallory’s mind until she recognized just how much her parents fought. Not to mention, Victoria had offered to cover the tab. Not that Mallory had a problem paying her own way, but it was always nice to not have to worry about that aspect of being out in Paris. Especially as pricey as things could be. 

It wasn’t a challenge to find Victoria despite the pumping bass of the music and the low light. It was a table out of the way of everything so they could chat, something that she was sure they both needed. Not that Mallory minded that part, it was nice not to focus on herself the whole time, and be able to feel as if she had some level head in talking through someone else’s issues. 

Slipping into the chair opposite, she took up the other shot glass, tilting it gently towards Victoria. “Cheers to that,” Mallory agrees before downing the shot with a decent amount of ease. “The weeks been that bad, though?”

She’s grateful that she’s even got Mallory’s company; on paper, they shouldn’t work. Age is an elastic thing in the world she’s from, where your costars vary from five years your junior to twenty and thirty years your senior, and yet the playing field amongst you is a plateau of the standard. Except, of course, Mallory is someone that she connects with, an understanding no matter how fresh that a person often exists beyond their persona. Mallory’s something like a younger sister to her. She’s someone Victoria doesn’t mind doling out advice to, someone who she likes to take her problems to for a clear set of eyes and, like siblings by blood or marriage might, the age old game of ‘do as I say, not as I do’ running rounds between them.

Victoria’s glad she’s got a friend in Mallory. Cherry picking family is not a luxury, but in this instance, it is. She’s sure she did a damn good job of it, too, and if their tastes in liquor don’t prove a relation somehow, then nothing’s real and everything is constructed upon feather clouds and wispy lies. 

“Eh,” Victoria intones, the faint sound of glass clinking foregone in the throbbing pulse of the bass that blankets them. The vodka slides down her throat like it’s water, a pleasant warmth lining her stomach. “Not the worst, but not the best. If Swayze doesn’t get his shit together, he’s sleeping on the couch.” She rolls her eyes, splashes of a good-naturedness rimming her shallow annoyances with the week. “What about you? How’re things going?” 

X: What’s their most petty little secret?

The statute of limitations is up on it, thank God, but one time she discovered that one of her neighbors in LA were hoarding puppies that they kept underneath the floorboards. Vic loves animals and the thought of them mistreating the puppies absolutely infuriated her — after discovering her neighbors were just barely feeding / watering them and had no plans to get rid of them either, she waited one morning when everyone was out of the house, "snuck in" broke in, and got all the puppies out before giving them to friends or people who were interested in having one. She would've kept one, too, if it wouldn't have given her away.

Y: What is one question they’ve always wanted an answer to?

Why does math? And not how it works, or why we use it, but legitimately, why. Who came up with the number one? And why does it symbolize "one" of something? And why is this combined with another "one" make the product "two"? As someone who doesn't fuck with numbers to begin with, she wants answers.

AZALEA: What's a movie you cried while watching?

Pretty much anything featuring Julia Roberts, Forrest Gump, and The Lion King.

POPPY: What color was your childhood home?

Grey exterior, cream interior — save for the color of the bedroom that she eventually shared with her little sister, which was painted a deep fuchsia color.

V — answered here.

I — answered here.