365 party girl

Walk Zoinks. Get coffee. Take a real shower. Get coffee. Put the laundry in. Get coffee.

Her brain repeatedly tells her she'll need caffeine to get through her list before she can sleep, and given how disoriented she feels, she agrees with her conscience. She decides to stop into Joe's, not neccessarily bc it's the closest, but because they have the less burned coffee most days. The bell chimes as she walks in, going through the motions before taking a seat with her drink, deciding her feet need another break before heading home.

The familiar voice pulls her out of the fog, eyes lifting to the brunette and her smile, a third wave of energy surging through her. "Oh my gosh!" It's practically a squeal. "Hi!" It's a tired and airy giggle, but she stands and envelopes Romi in a hug, a kind of affection she saves for those she thinks highly of, those she trusts. "I've been good, how are you?" She asks. "Please, sit, sit, even if it's just for a minute." Her twang strong as she gestures for Romi to take a seat, thrilled to have ran into her again.

They'd gotten so close and then she was just... Gone. It's less that she doesn't know and more she doesn't pay attention. Her focus had often looked more to the larger government and how it was affecting her patients, their access to certain needs, and sometimes, she was following celebrity gossip. But the local town drama intentionally eluded her, so as not to obscure her thoughts and to maintain an unbiased opinion of potential patients. Part of her was glad that Romi left. Glitter Gulch wasn't a good place, as much as it had been good to her in a sense, she was beginning to be able to recognize the nuance, the silent predatory nature that lies in the hiring and firing of the girls. She thinks of Cyrek and the number of conversations and debates they've had about the give and take, their inability to see eye to eye, and the definition of empowerment. But in the middle of that, there was Romi. She'd always been good to her, chatting and keeping her company. Sophia had considered her a friend by the time she'd disappeared.

She smiled as Sophia gave her a hug, always happy to see an old friend. And honestly, the redhead was probably the only person from the club that would be happy to see her. It seemed that a lot of the dancers there held vitriol for Romi--not that she could really blame them. After all, in her old life, she'd been very entitled (she still was, honestly). She'd acted as if currency gave her power and status and that's because it did. Some people didn't like that. But she'd always tried to make up for it with good tips. Money wasn't everything. She knew that now more than ever. But it was worth something, wasn't it? Like father, like daughter she supposed. Ugh.

Smiling at the invitation, she took a seat and thought about how to go about answering such a simple question. "Uh, I've been alright." She didn't think Sophia had seen her since before she'd gotten rid of her signature blonde hair. She certainly missed it at times, though Salem had been right in her suggestion to dye it dark and start anew. It was really the only option.

How've you been? It's been forever since I've seen you last. She couldn't tell by her friend's words on whether or not she'd been keeping up with all the latest Weiss family drama. Was she asking how she was doing because she was worried about her? Or because she genuinely didn't know? It was hard to tell. And it was even harder for Romi to hide her bitterness when given an opportunity to discuss it.

The suggestion that he should tell people she’s crazy lands poorly, because he’s still, in his own way, protecting her; he could plant stories, he knows he could. He could drag her through the press, demonise her and her struggles, use it to discredit all the valid criticisms she’d publicly levelled at him, but Edward won’t. He would take the shame he’s feeling every single day rather than put it onto her - and perhaps that’s love. Not a good enough version of it to undo the hell he’s put his daughters through, but love nonetheless. He'll never tell her that he defends her in every room she's not in, even when he can't be civil to her in person. "We clearly have very different definitions and recollections of the truth. I don’t think anything you said in your speech was remotely close to it. If anything, I think you have a real talent for fiction, Romi. Perhaps that’s what you should do in this new life of yours: become a novelist." The contents of the speech, perhaps, he could endure with time, but the humiliation - the rapid shuttering of camera lenses, the agape mouths of their guests, Edward in the middle of it all, colour drained from his face, trapped in a hellscape - sits differently. If he hadn’t sought out Nari’s hand under the table and clung on for dear life, he thinks he would’ve lost his mind. Who’s to say he didn’t lose his mind anyway? It feels like it most days.

He refuses to accept that her stubbornness came from him, which is stubbornness in action. His own mother had been like that: every success, every virtue, every admirable quality of his was credited to her own efforts as a parent. The less pleasant aspects of her son’s personality, however, were another story; those belonged to his father. Edward had no great desire to defend the man; on the contrary, but it struck him as remarkably convenient that every vice could be laid at the feet of someone too dead to defend himself. But now he’s doing the same. Hell, he’d pin all of Romi’s negative traits on her mother if it meant not having to take responsibility. "It’s heartening that you think so highly of yourself, but it’s very misplaced, because, no, I didn’t come here to entice you back. I came here to give you a box of stuff that I didn’t want in my house. It’s really quite simple. Why would I want you back? Life is infinitely more peaceful without your histrionics."

And miserable. And lonely. And not nearly half as fun.

There’s so much love, sitting unexpressed; he can feel it in the way he looks at her, how his gaze softens when he doesn’t want it to, betraying him. Always fucking betraying him. Just come home, he wants to say. Just come home and we can fix it. But again, a level of humility would be required that he just can’t muster. God knows he’ll probably find it on his deathbed when it’s far too late to matter, but now, it remains out of reach.

Sometimes, even now, after so many lines crossed, there are moments where Edward's surprised by his own cruelty. Not often, but there’s an occasional jolt of horror when he knows he's gone too far. The comment about Romi’s mother being ashamed feels like one of those moments; he wants to retract it immediately, but he’s too stubborn - and, apparently, always willing to make it worse. “I’d say it’s for the best she’s not here to tell you. At least she doesn’t have to see what a disappointment you’ve become. I think it would destroy her.”

She could hear the incredulousness in his voice--the disbelief. Honestly, she hadn't expected any less. His lack of understanding didn't surprise her. It's not that he was wrong. In many ways, he was right. He had given her the world. She'd never gone hungry, she'd never not had a roof over her head, she'd never gone without the finest luxuries up until the recent past. Her closet had been full of designer brands, just the way she'd liked it. But it was a trivial. It wasn't worth nothing--but honest to god, she would've traded her entire designer wardrobe (if it were still hers) in a heartbeat to hear her father say that he was proud of her. That he loved her. That she wasn't a disappointment to him. Even now, as ashamed as she was over it, she still longed to hear those words. Aside from a handful of memories of the good times (before her mother had vanished, before the drugs had come along, before she'd hurt Elanore and before Cassie had shut herself away from the world), the majority of her interactions with her father had been cold and mechanical. To show any sort of emotion was weakness--even love for one's own child, apparently. Letting out a bitter chuckle as she shook her head, she said "It seems that no amount of money can buy parental affection. Yes, you gave us luxury goods. And those were very nice. But emotionally? You've given me fucking nothing. Almost my whole life. You said it yourself--I've never been good enough. And I guess therein lies the problem." She didn't care if her admission for fatherly love made him think she that was weak. Perhaps she was. But numbing out her feelings wasn't working. It never really had. So she was trying something different. She was trying to be honest.

You still owe an apology to Nari for ruining her wedding day. Even if you won’t apologise to me, the least you could do is reach out to her. Letting out another chuckle, she said "No, I don't owe her anything actually. As far as I'm concerned, I was doing her a favor by giving her a warning about all that comes with being Mrs. Weiss." To be fair, it wasn't really Nari that she had an issue with. She didn't know the woman--perhaps she was perfectly cordial. But she didn't owe her anything, either. Quite frankly, it had been nearly unbearable to play the role of the dutiful daughter in the short month that the two had been engaged leading up to the wedding. She wasn't going to bother the woman even more by tracking her down to give her a half-hearted apology. Besides, apologies that were demanded weren't worthy apologies anyways. It was funny, really, the way that he thought he could still comand things out of her, as if she were still at his beck and call. "Besides, I highly doubt she wants to hear from me."

When he accused her of lying in her speech, she cocked a light eyebrow. "Really? I was lying? About which part, exactly? Did you conveniently forget that you set our dollhouse on fire on the front lawn as punishment?" She wanted to lay an accusation about her mother against him as well but she held back. Truth be told, she didn't know if she actually wanted to know the truth about what had happened to the matriarch of their family after all. "Are we not a vengeful family? Was I wrong to say that if you're suspected to be ungrateful or out-of-step for even a moment, you'll spend the rest of your life paying for it? Where's the lie in that, Dad? What's untrue? What did I lie about?" Why would I want you back? Life is infinitely more peaceful without your histrionics. Nodding, she smiled once more, still trying to hide the hurt on her face. "Right. I'm sure it is." She didn't doubt that, actually. She was quite the drama queen and certainly a brat. But it still hurt to hear him say it. "And you wonder why I would do that to you--why I would give such a speech. You're a lot of things but you're not stupid. So don't pretend to be so dense and act as if that speech materialized out of thin air. I am what you made me. Deal with it."

@boneyardstarters capped [ 0 / 5 ]

location ; public gardens, late evening

The cigarette was neatly lit, sunglasses pushed back on a pale face, no sun to suggest she needed such an item, but Elanore had never dressed for practicality. Style over substance, always, when it came to her clothes. Setting an image more important than be able to run away from a fight. If anyone were to look close enough, they might spot the blood on the hem of her thick casmere sweater, or the blush to her cheeks. They might be able to put two and two together, but they'd be dead before they did. Elanore did not like her secret spilled, but she needed her after-dinner cigarette. She was a woman of habit.

The sound of footsteps did not go unnoticed, but she allowed them to come closer, not even turning her body into the direction, not even when she noticed they were making their way over to her. "If you are who I was set to meet, you're half an hour late. If you're not. I suppose you'd like to reconsider sneaking up on a harmless unarmed woman."

Romi tried not to make it a habit of seeing her sister--after all, an encounter between the two Weisses never boded well for either one of them. The only problem was with each encounter, it was never clear who would come out on top. And quite frankly, she was sick and tired of playing this fucking game. But unlike her other adversaries, Elanore Weiss had every right to hate Romi. And she couldn't really blame her for it, either. If there was one person that she had wronged the most in the world, it was her older sister.

By now, she was certain that she'd heard about Romi's fall from grace--or...whatever other adjective one might use to describe the former blonde's role in the Weiss family. After all, it'd been months. She hadn't gone out looking for her sister, honest. But when she'd found her, she couldn't pass up an opportunity to talk. She wanted things to change between the two of them, to get getter. But how could she ever repair what she'd done? She couldn't. There were no words to even begin to try. After all, how do you apologize for 'accidentally' almost killing someone?

“selling transfers ownership permanently,” he says after a moment’s sigh, tone even. “pawning means i loan against collateral. you reclaim it later if repayment occurs within the contracted period.” a beat. “one assumes optimism. the other doesn’t.”

his attention settles briefly along the setting again, gaze tracing symmetry rather than sentiment.

“the cut refers to the stone.” flatly. a pause follows. not apologetic. “london jewelers favor different symmetry ratios depending on district and period. older family pieces tend to show it.” whether she understands the explanation matters less than the fact it exists.

at the mention of the séance, something near amusement threatens the neutrality of his mouth before disappearing again. “i’d charge extra for necromancy.” deadpan. “no, confirmation usually means receipts. photographs. insurance documentation. estate records.” 

another glance toward the ID resting against the counter. then the identification reaches him fully. his jaw ticks once.

there it is. weiss.

recognition arrives without surprise, only the dull irritation of pattern confirmation. families like that moved through the city as though wealth itself constituted virtue—insulated from consequence long enough to mistake comfort for competence. and now one of them stood in his shop attempting to convert inherited excess into emergency liquidity.

his attention lowers back toward the brooch.

suddenly, the entire situation feels predictable.

he has spent too long watching people from neighborhoods like hers treat places like this as invisible until desperation finally forced them through the door. pawn shops only became acceptable once their own systems stopped protecting them.

pieces tied to families like that rarely survived long in public-facing inventory. too recognizable. too easy for the wrong eyes to trace back through glass cases and transaction records alike. items of that classification tended to move differently once they entered circulation—narrower channels, quieter exchanges, selective buyers who understood discretion as part of the price structure itself.

“i’ll be honest,” he says at last, voice remaining level despite the colder edge settling beneath it now. “items attached to names like weiss tend to create complications disproportionate to their value.”

She could sense a shift when he read her ID and realized who she really was. It was subtle but it was there--though it's not like she could really blame him for it. She understood it. She hated her family name, too. And even if the shift hadn't occurred, she didn't have any of the documents that she might need to help prove her story. Once he learned her name, she hoped that he'd at least know she was telling the truth but still, she understood there was a process to these sorts of things.

I’ll be honest, items attached to names like Weiss tend to create complications disproportionate to their value. She looked back down at the brooch--she wondered if her grandmother was rolling in her grave right about now. Her mind couldn't help but wander as she stood there: had her grandmother known that her own son would grow up to be a monster? Or had he been perfect in her eyes? Or even worse, had she known of his darkness, yet loved him in spite of it?

They were strolling up to pick up breakfast to-go and drop it off at their girlfriend's office. Things had been a little off-kilter since the Weiss wedding and all the fanfare that came with it — ironically, it had little to do with the dramatics that had ensued in the papers, and the myriad of tragic outcomes that followed, an ode to the five horsemen of the apocalypse. Nevertheless, the doorperson didn't want Samantha to think that they were ireful toward the suggestion of a shared living space... Alice had been right, it wasn't something that she needed to jump right into the pit of, but time was required to warm up to the thought of taking the next prophesized step in a relationship without fucking it up sky-high. Before moving to Vegas, and escaping their delicate predicament, they had never successfully held down many prospects in their life. Let alone friends. In fact, most of what they could steadily juggle was an airplane of shots and crashing on a couch somewhere. Pinching pennies to get a cheap liquor store fix and bouncing from one minimum wage job to another to pay for bottle after bottle. Meaningless, and that claustrophobia intensified tenfold when they fell through the center of the earth and off the map of the living, weaving through the walking dead.

Well, things were different now, and everyone else's normal was... uncomfortable. Fortunately, the longer that Ivy sat with the feeling, the less jarring it was.

While Ivy's words were not necessarily soft and fluffy, Romi couldn't really blame her, nor was she surprised that she'd bring up what had happened last time they'd seen one another. Granted, she didn't really think she'd 'bit Ivy's head off' last time they'd seen each other but that was neither here nor there and honestly, the brunette was mortified when she thought back to that moment, where she'd been practically frozen in the middle of the gas station. It was all so stupid but in retrospect, she'd been struggling at that time and keeping it almost solely to herself. Chuckling and shaking her head, she said "No, I don't think so." Should she apologize? Perhaps. But then again, it's not like Ivy had asked for an explanation, nor did Romi owe her one.

I think I deserve to bum a cig as an apology. Smirking, she offered her carton of cigarettes to the fae before igniting her lighter and holding it up for Ivy. "That's fair enough," she said, taking another drag of her own. Perhaps she should apologize after all--like, actually, with her words, not just a cigarette. But she didn't want to make it into a whole thing and she was almost certain she could count on Ivy not to do so.

"NO, I WON'T, 'CAUSE IT'S FUCKIN' insufferable out here in the sun." Despite her rude words, there was a lack of actual sourness behind them, as anyone who knew Stella Fawn was aware she would inject force were it needed. The fortune teller wasn't someone worthy of her venom, though, which is why regardless of the words stated, they fell flat of being truly toxic. "You can ask me to pay, but you see this belly? It means I got no fuckin' extra income for your door," she reasoned with a shrug that was only half in jest. "You gonna take that away from a newborn?" She sighed, dramatically and with no true disappointment. "Didn't think you were that kinda person." Regardless, she still pushed her way into the mobile home, not expecting for Salem to practically swap positions with her and pull the door shut on their way out, mouth hanging open for a split second before she turned to be met with the eyes of the topic of the conversation she tried to start. As much as she wanted to talk about the youngest Weiss, she didn't think she actually wanted to speak to her, no matter how unfair that came across. Her stare was impenetrable while Romi floundered around filling the now awkward space, though she had to admit her frustrations with Salem leaving that in such a position with no room on having a say to get out of it were mutual. "Thanks," she responded dryly to the best wishes, gratitude not exactly exuding from the single word, though one palm did come to rest at the base of the now large bump, as if it was an inevitable gesture any time someone mentioned the baby. She wasn't kicking now—for once, and Stella had to wonder if it was because she could feel her mom was revving an engine on anger and didn't need an extra light to spark. "Can already tell she's gonna be a force to be reckoned with, already she kicks up a storm when she's got an opinion." Her hip cocked to the side, as much as it could without her losing her center of balance that had now shifted with the extra life she was carrying around. "I'd say the same to you 'bout the new stepmom, but I heard it wasn't really a night of celebratin' to you. Or that you did a lil' too much of that 'forehand." It was an quip she didn't need to slip in, cruel almost in how unnecessary it was to possibly rub salt into a fresh wound. "I'm only gonna tell you this once, 'cause I do think you're smart 'nough to heed the warning. But Cy's been real fuckin' kind being your sponsor, and if it leads to draggin' him into whatever shit you got goin' on, you'll be a spot real worse than this trailer." It was a nondescript threat, but unsubtle in exactly what she meant. Plopping herself down on the seat nearest to the door, as being on her feet was a struggle at the point she was currently at, her eyebrows rose, no more sure than Romi of how to start a real conversation, at least one that wasn't just indirect insults or threats. "So, is she a bitch? The new mom, I mean. Is that what set you the fuck off?"

Stella's words were sharp and angry and to be quite fucking honest, Romi wasn't exactly sure what she'd done to elicit such ire from the mother-to-be. She was aware the Stella didn't trust her--that she thought she'd ratted them out, that she was only self-interested. And suddenly, she felt so fucking stupid for having wanted to be her friend at all. And perhaps this anger emitting from Stella was the same anger that Cyrek had for her as well, perhaps he was just better at hiding it. And she tried to ignore the pang in her heart because two people that she actually cared very much for maybe didn't want her around at all. While she couldn't blame them for that, she didn't really feel like she deserved this much vitriol. This much anger from Elanore? Fine. That was warranted. But this? This felt unfair. And then she felt guilty for feeling sorry for herself at all because wasn't she simply reaping what she'd sewn? Still, even if that were true, which it probably was, she wasn't about to just lie down and take it. She didn't need to dish it back but she didn't need to roll over, either. Besides, judging by Stella's tone, the brunette was never going to forgive her for whatever transgressions she'd already decided Romi was guilty of. Letting out a chuckle, she sat down and crossed her arms. "Nice to see you, too," was all she could wager at first.

I'm only gonna tell you this once, 'cause I do think you're smart 'nough to heed the warning. But Cy's been real fuckin' kind being your sponsor, and if it leads to draggin' him into whatever shit you got goin' on, you'll be a spot real worse than this trailer. Wow. A not-so-subtle threat. Romi believed that even pregnant, Stella could still kick her ass, though of course, she wasn't willing to find out. She felt her irritation simmering but she knew biting back wouldn't help. "I'm not dragging him into anything--all of that's over anyways. I was gonna' give him a call later today." She'd promised Salem that she would. "Tell him that I'm going back to meetings--but don't worry, I'll get another sponsor." Now, would she able to find another sponsor that was willing? She didn't know. The whole reason she'd even been put on Cyrek's plate was because no one else would take her. And now it seemed like that wasn't a viable option anymore, either. Not that Stella needed to know that. She put her best poker face on, unsure of what else to do--she felt backed into a corner. Damn Salem for locking them in her together. It was already a disaster and it was bound to continue downhill. She knew she was supposed to plead her innocence and...apologize? For... Being an asshole? Being a bother? But she wasn't really sure if she could get herself to utter the words 'sorry' right now. "Don't wanna' bother y'all anymore than I already have." Honestly, it was a tad overdramatic and bordering on martyrdom but it was difficult to not feel sorry for herself right now.

If he’s honest, he recognises that, in her position, he might’ve done the same thing. If he'd been expected to stand up and say nice things about his own father, he would’ve struggled to hold his tongue too. But admitting that aloud would require a degree of humility he’s never been interested in. “But I still don’t understand. And I didn’t deserve it.” If they’re discussing what people deserve, the list of grievances Romi could level at him stretches for miles, but self-awareness, like humility, has never been his strongest quality. They both know that.

Keep that shit. I don’t want it. He knows she’d want it, that she’s a material person the same way he’s a material person; the thought brings another rush of affection he has to force down. Even if Edward won’t ask - because it would sound too much like caring - he can’t help wondering how she’s adjusted to having nothing. He raised his daughters in luxury, after all, and the shock of having it stripped away must’ve been astronomical.

Because I didn’t beg for your forgiveness? Because I didn’t kiss your fucking feet? “Because you’re impossible. That’s why.” Tired more than irritated at this point. “People look at me like I’m a fucking joke now. Decades of work getting our family to where we are, and you chose to make us look publicly unstable.” Publicly is the problem. They both know better than anyone how ugly things get behind closed doors, but those cracks are supposed to stay hidden.

“This new life of yours will collapse." But it frightens him, how resolute she seems about all of this. The possibility they may never reconcile hasn't occurred to Edward until now. It’s what they always do, isn’t it? Fight. Say unforgivable things. Then find their way back to one another. But it feels different this time. "You’ll come crawling back eventually.” The words come easily because they're the ones he needs to believe. “The novelty will wear off, because you have no idea how hard life is without everything I’ve given you."

He should leave it there but, if there's one thing he can be relied upon to do, it's twist the knife. “I’m so ashamed of you, Romi." A beat. "And your mother would be ashamed too.” A lie, and a vicious one at that. Her mother would’ve been fucking relieved. Relieved that Romi got away and lived to tell the tale. Relieved that, in some small but significant way, her daughter succeeded where she never could.

I don't know. She almost thought she'd misheard him. In all of her life, she'd never, ever heard her father utter those words. He always had an answer. He always had a plan. Even if he didn't, he'd never let anyone else catch on to that. And for the briefest of moments, she began to wonder if her father actually regretted disowning her. Perhaps he was even regretting not putting her in charge, making her underboss--but she didn't want to let her imagination get carried away. She had to stay sharp and focused. For the first time in her life, she thought she might actually have the upper-hand when it came to her father. I thought if I saw you, the speech would make sense. That I’d understand why you did it. "I don't think you'll ever really understand," she said, her voice steady. "Because you believe yourself to be infallible. You think that you deserve nothing but adoration and allegiance, even when you give nothing in return." She almost continued but she liked that the fact that he was left pondering why his darling daughter would ever do such a thing. She liked the thought of him lying awake at night, frustrated, confused, unsure as to why the one that had been most loyal to him would betray him so publicly. And she reveled in it.

I didn't deserve it. "Yes, you did," she said in quick succession, not giving it another thought before it came out of her mouth. "And I could stand here and explain my reasons but that would be a waste of my time and yours because no matter what I say, you'll find a reason to deflect and discount my words. Just like you always do. Because you lack the capacity to take any sort of responsibility." It's as if the voice of someone else--someone wiser and smarter--had crept into her throat. But for once, she was able to stand there, unflinching, her voice calm. Because she was finally letting out just a sliver of what she'd kept bottled up for so long. And unlike the wedding, where she'd been egged on by her own anger and the temporary boost of energy from her (former) drug of choice, she'd had a lot of time to think about all of this and sort out her feelings. And she was still trying to do that on her own time. But for once, she felt in control. And maybe in the next moment, that feeling would dissipate and she'd feel foolish all over again. But at least for right now, in this moment, she felt strong. Not impenetrable--but strong, nonetheless.

People look at me like I’m a fucking joke now. Decades of work getting our family to where we are, and you chose to make us look publicly unstable. "Then why don't you just tell them all that I'm fucking crazy? Why not just write me off?" She took one step closer, making their distance a bit smaller, a distance that he so clearly wanted right now. "I'll tell you why not if you want me to--it's because you know every word I said was true. Embarrassing? Sure. Ugly? Absolutely. But it wasn't a lie. And you know it."

This new life of yours will collapse. She almost asked if that was a threat but she resisted--no need to give him any ideas if it wasn't one already. "Then so be it." You’ll come crawling back eventually. The novelty will wear off, because you have no idea how hard life is without everything I’ve given you. She let out a bitter laugh this time. God, he had such fucking nerve. That must be where she got it from, the audacity. "Yeah, I don't think so." Taking another step closer, taking her chances, she said "Like I said, we're very similar. Where do you think I got my stubbornness from?" I'd rather die than come back to you. She almost said it--but again, she was far too well aware how easily that could be arranged and she wouldn't put it past him. "Besides, why would you want me to come back? You made it quite clear that I'm no longer your daughter. So why would you even want me? That's why you're here, right? To entice me back? Not to ask, of course--you could never stoop so low, never grovel. But that's why you're here." Because you need me. She wanted to say it so badly--but she knew he'd never admit it. Even if he did regret disowning her, which was highly unlikely, it's not like he'd ever tell her so. He had too much pride. Honestly, sometimes it was like looking in a fucking mirror. Maybe that's why she hated herself. Perhaps it was because she was a reflection of him.

The blonde was on unsteady footing around the whole ordeal, uncertain how to approach this situation with the delicacy and warmth that it deserved. For what seemed like the thousandth time, she wished that she'd turned out more like her mother than her father, more nurturing and careful with her words than bullish and jagged at the edges. Maybe this would all come easier to Cass if she possessed that innate maternal instinct. But her killer instincts had dulled significantly with time and disuse, no longer fueled by that youthful hubris to be the smartest person in the room. She didn't really identify with that version of herself lately: the ruthless and bright girl that delighted in besting her classmates, of making her presence and thoughts known, even if she herself felt alien to the world, somewhere deep down. This new version of herself, the one that earnestly asked her sister how she was doing and actually made attempts at mending fencing, was still taking shape. She couldn't help but acknowledge that it started with moments like this. Now was the time to stop sitting idly by, to stop being a bystander in her own life.

Her typically sharp green gaze softening at Romi's vulnerable admission, Cassandra nodded, a crease of concern settling between her brows. Walking further into the living space of the RV, Cass was too stunned by the lack of defenses put up by her usually blunt and assertive little sister to say much of anything at first. Though the girls had missed out on any semblance of a close sibling relationship over their adolescence and young adulthood, the eldest Weiss thought that she'd made some headway in offering a long-overdue olive branch to her youngest sister, but she never expected Romi to completely give up the facade of perfection they'd been taught to put on since birth. Taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch, the blonde kept her gaze forward as she processed the next revelation. "He kicked you out? Just like that?" It had been a while since Cassandra had taken residence in their family home. She enjoyed the peace of her solitude too much to go back there willingly, but she had never been forced to leave, even after her mental breakdown and ousting from the family business. It was a stark reminder of her father's capacity for cruelty, to dispose of Romi so easily, his own flesh and blood.

It's over. I'm out. And with those few words, Cass snapped her eyes in the direction of her sister, willing herself to make eye contact (something that had always been difficult for the heiress). The small part of her that had always felt so different from the rest of her family, like there was something fundamentally wrong with her and they would never understand, tentatively perked up at the admission, as if to say, "Wait... you too?"

She could tell almost immediately that her honesty and willingness to let Cassandra in, both into the RV and, apparently, emotionally, had caught her eldest sister off-guard. She didn't blame her. They'd been raised to be as sharp as knives, never letting anything tarnish the impenetrable armor that they were forced to wear at all times. And perhaps if she wasn't so god damn exhausted, she'd put up more of a fight but it wasn't worth it at this point. Besides, she highly doubted that her father had sent Cassandra here to collect information--and even if he had, she didn't actually think that she'd follow through. Because she was almost certain now that she hated their father as well. Maybe it was foolish or naive but she was sure that she was safe with Cass. Perhaps if they hadn't started to attempt to mend the shattered pieces between them just months before, it'd be different and maybe she'd question it more. But she believed her sister was here for her. And it felt nice to have someone from her family genuinely care for her.

He kicked you out? Just like that? She could hear the surprise in her voice--and Romi was surprised herself, since it seemed like Cassandra didn't know about this. That means that her father hadn't talked to her about it--not honestly, at least. "Well... It was a little more than that, I guess," she said quietly. "After he pulled me 'offstage,' we had it out in his office. He was so angry--he kept asking me why I couldn't handle one simple fucking task..." she said with a bitter laugh. "And then... I don't know, I just saw red. He told me I was finished and I lunged at him. Didn't do much damage, but... I tried." She gave a small shrug. "I know what he wanted. He wanted me to get on my knees and beg, to grovel, to say that I was sorry and that I'd never do it again. But I just couldn't. The only thing that would make the whole ordeal even more pathetic is if I begged for his forgiveness. And I can't do that." Letting out a sigh, she said "So he had Drake escort me out and that was it. As far as he's concerned, I... I'm not his daughter anymore. He made that abundantly clear." When she said that she was out, she noticed a shift in her sister's expression. "What is it?" she asked softly.

I know what you mean. I think being forced to step down, all those years ago—it might have changed my life for the better. I know it might not seem like it, what with me barely leaving the house. But... it has. She was right--it didn't seem like it. Or, at least it hadn't for a really long time. But in the past few months, the pressure had been mounting--pressure that Romi clearly couldn't handle as well as she thought she could. Because it seemed that no matter what she did, it was never enough. She was never enough. And it had been weighing on her. "I mean... To be fair, it's just the beginning. Maybe I made a terrible mistake. But..." she paused, trying to give the idea some real thought. "I don't think I did." I was never going to get what I wanted there, either. I was just in too deep to realize it at the time. Then, that night happened, and I couldn't take it anymore. I—Romi's eyes flickered back up to her sister and her light brows furrowed together in confusion. What night was she referring to? Was it... Was it the night of her and Elanore's fight? How much did Cassandra know about that, if anything? Truthfully, Romi really didn't want to know. And yet, she needed to understand what her sister was trying to say. This whole time, had the two sisters felt the exact same way? Had they truly made the mistake of enduring the circus that was their family all this time on their own instead of together? "What night?...." she asked, almost afraid of what the answer might be.

Romi's attitude was a facet of her that he tended to lose stamina for rapidly, and although it was unbecoming of her bodyguard to give the same pushback that she did, Drake had never backed down from it — especially once he had served time at the behest of protecting her. Did he regret it? No. Were there times that he was resentful of how she behaved, as a result? A bit. But a job was a job, and ultimately, he wasn't owed thanks. Nor appreciation. It was a raw cut paycheck and nothing more. Maybe that was his pitfall: that he held steadfast to the scrap of humanity within him, as if he dug deep enough, he could identify with the broken bird of a heiress that stood in front of him, and had patterned out a soft spot that was underlying. So many years watching her grow from a sullen teenager to who she was now, albeit those two people were hardly any different — it must be hard not to fashion something akin to caring for her, as more than a human shield.

Romi huffed, and stomped off like that same teenager who thought she could steamroll the universe underneath her, yet hadn't had a taste of the leash around her neck. The blonde never had to worry about the weight of the world crushing her shoulders, but reputation was everything to the face of the most affluent and powerful families in the city, and she had the poor deck of cards to align with them. She paused at the door, and glowered at him, as if he had issued a deadly blow to her, and not the other way around. He was unflinching in the face of her unbridled ire. Few could stand her short fuse, but luckily, he was molded to do exactly that. "What, am I killing your high? Like that would be too tragic."

What, am I killing your high? Like that would be too tragic. She rolled her eyes as she got into the car, irritated with his insolence, as if he didn't have the right to be irritated with her own display of insolence. She knew she really had no right to be upset with him--he was just doing his job, like he always did. She was in the wrong. She knew that. But that was precisely why she couldn't speak that into existence--she couldn't let him know that she was embarrassed. She was obviously caught. He knew what she was doing and he'd probably known for a long time now there was no use in denying it. "Yeah, actually, you are--could you fuckin' stop, please?" She was being childish and she knew it but this isn't how she wanted to spend her high, being lectured at for the millionth fucking time.

She complied with his demand and put on her seatbelt, though she couldn't help herself but mutter "Yeah, me flying out the windshield would be such a damn shame." It would be for him--she knew that. And it's not that she...wished for that to happen. That would be horrible for everyone involved--everyone, except, perhaps herself. Would it really be so terrible if she was taken out by something like a car crash? She certainly wouldn't be anyone's problem anymore--not Drake's, not her father's, not Meera's. It would just al be over. Of course, she knew it wasn't that simple. And it wasn't a death-wish, per se. But she also wouldn't be too upset if it were to occur, either. She was getting tired of doing this day in and day out. Truth be told, a part of her wanted to stop. A part of her wanted to be honest with her girlfriend. But she just couldn't.

pain and bliss could coexist in harmony, it seemed, at least in kineret vitelli's world. she had been painfully and blissfully oblivious of the happenings in her family's life for as long as she had the name vitelli to call her own. whatever affairs meera participated in were no concern of hers, which is the way she preferred it. while as of late she was forced into realizing the importance of their social standing and her obedience and servitude to their legacy, this didn't mean she had to necessarily care or pry inside her siblings' lives. god knew what alessandro had up his sleeve for the future of their family; spencer was always fucking off somewhere, stirring up trouble with their rival house whenever given the ripest opportunity; and meera, well, she was the best behaved of them all. it would've come as a great surprise to learn she had been romancing a weiss all this time—kenny might not have been any better, associating with romi as a friend, but at least she wasn't macking on her.

it was true that the vitellis knew how to have a good time. the weisses always seemed so strict and brooding. honestly, kenny would've put a gun in her mouth if she'd have been adopted by them. it was arduous enough, dealing with her own family, which came with enough strife as it was—but being a weiss? it sounded like unending torture. really, she wasn't sure how romi survived it for so long, and she was thoroughly impressed whenever she was cut off, whether or not it was intended.

Romi shrugged when Kenny mentioned not wasting food--old habits die hard, she supposed. Even now, when she was quite literally living paycheck to paycheck, it seemed that she didn't think twice about others throwing away perfectly good food. After all, most of her life, she'd never thought twice about something as trivial as food--there was always more than that came from. Of course, things were quite different now. "I mean... I don't know, I don't think they have doggy bags around here. Do what you want but I'm not interested in funnel cake, sorry." Her friendship with Kenny had surprised her at first but the two actually got along quite well. Of course, the former heiress couldn't divulge her relationship with Kenny's siter--it wasn't safe yet, though the two had been talking about staging some sort of meet-cute now that Romi was technically no longer associated with the Weisses. That was easier said than done, of course. Even though she'd dyed her hair and took on a whole new lifestyle, anyone that knew her from her previous life were not so easily fooled. Many people thought that once a Weiss, always a Weiss--she was very grateful that her friend didn't seem to share the same sentiment.

She nodded when Kenny mentioned the mess of things in the Vitelli family. Even though things with the Weisses were messier than they'd ever been, it was still no comparison to what their rival family had been up against. It seemed as if people were coming after them, purposefully targeting them (no pun intended), and it made her fear for her girlfriend's safety. "I don't blame you one bit..." she said. At first, she wanted to ask if the girl was okay but that didn't really seem like her business--plus, Romi wasn't really one to pry, as she hated people doing the same to her. And yet, Kenny's next words did just that. So, are you like...doing okay? She averted her brown eyes to the floor at the question, not really wanting to get into any of it. Yet, the brunette's next question sent a small chill down her spine. It was a fair question. Why had her father let her go so easily? Clearly, he was still bothered by it--why else would he come track her down and work and try to intimidate her? She'd been looking over her shoulder ever since she'd moved in with Salem. She wasn't so naive as to think that something else wasn't coming down the line but what that might, she hadn't the slightest clue.

MEERA HAD ALWAYS BEEN RAISED WITH STRENGTH, just a different sort of endurance. The quiet kind, that didn't boast or show pride about perseverance, but rather consistently weathered storms no matter how destruction they caused or how strong their winds, and continued on with acting as if nothing had happened, as if her foundation hadn't been shaken whatsoever. There was no choice, her mother would often say, but to keep going with one's head held high, and there was no purpose in allowing others to take notice of your pain lest one was asking for judgment to come because of it. The first time she had witnessed it in action right before her own eyes was in her mother when her father, her biological father, had died, and Meera had done her best to mirror it exactly when she lost her mother. Somehow, she had managed to keep it together when losing her stepfather, but she had to admit her steadiness was beginning to shake a bit after her stepbrother's. It was all so much, one punch landing against after the next, and learning of the heavy battle that her girlfriend was going through sat in its own sort of category of more pain, especially if the blonde was going to use it as a way of allowing distance to creep in between them. After everything, all she had wanted was to pull Romi as close as possible and hold onto her tightly, for if she had someone else ripped from her hold, she was sure she would lose every lesson her mother had taught her and surely fall to pieces in front of everyone, the one thing she had swore to her she'd never allow to happen. The moment she had become a Vitelli, the pressure had been placed by her own living parent but the weight had been carried proudly as it meant her mother believed the former beauty queen could handle it. But truthfully, she didn't think she could, at least not alone. Not if Romi tried to hide away from her. A breath she hadn't realized she was holding exited from between her lips when the door finally began creeping open, taking a step back to allow it to open from where she had all but shoved herself against to make sure her voice carried through its material. Her girlfriend looked like a fragile wisp of herself once she appeared, and her arms opened, hands that held two to go cups within each coming back together behind her back. "There you are," she greeted softly, as if she was afraid she would scurry back away, decide not to see her were her tone anything else, but also in a first attempt to soothe the storms crashing upon the other's visage. Forgiveness wasn't something she expected her to begin asking for, struggling to pass one cup to balance two in one hand so she had one free to push blonde locks behind her ear and wipe away tears, her heart shattering in her chest at the sight of them. "Hey...hey," Her voice was breathy, never raising above its hushed volume. "There's no reason for you to apologize." At least not to her. There were heaps of understanding in Meera's arsenal for her. "I promise, kanmani. Why don't we head inside, where we can speak?"

Romi was really not sure where she should begin but she figured that Meera's suggestion too find their way inside and away from any prying eyes was a great first step. Nodding, she gestured for her girlfriend to come in as she took one of the cups out of her very full hands, murmuring a soft "Thank you." All of this felt so foreign to her. For one, Romi was not known for her tears. Growing up, she'd been taught that growing was a show of weakness and that only babies cried. It was pathetic and embarrassing--and yet, she knew that she'd just turned on the proverbial faucet and she wasn't sure when it would stop. It had to be a jarring sight. There was a small part of her that wanted to ask her to leave--not because she didn't wish to see her lover but because this was all so mortifying. After all, how was she supposed to tell her girlfriend that instead of telling her the truth, she'd been purposefully keeping her in the dark for months, hiding her relapse and sinking into the depths of her addiction. She'd known that it was wrong. But she'd also known that she didn't want Meera to worry about her, not when she had so much going on in her own household and her family members kept dropping dead. And that very thought reminded her that there'd been another death, just the other day. Shit. "Are you okay?... I heard about... Francisco, I'm so sorry, Meera..."

She made her way to the couch that was still laid out as her bed and patted the spot beside her. See, while that small part of her didn't want Meera to see her like this, the greater whole of herself wanted nothing more than to bury herself in her girlfriend's arms and never be released. They'd been able to see each other here and there these past few months but even when they'd been together, Romi had been living a lie. It'd been ages since they'd been able to truly connect. And that was the blonde's fault. "I do owe you an apology, though," she said, her voice weak. "I... I should've told you a long time ago, but... I've been lying too you. I've been using again. For a little over a month now... I don't really know how it happened at first, I just...fell back into it. Things at home have been...impossible--though I know I don't have to tell you that." The tears were back once again and she tried to fight them but in doing so, her throat got all scratchy and it was difficult to speak. "I swear that I didn't keep it from you because...I don't trust you or anything like that. I just... I didn't want to let you down. And you've already got so much on your plate, you don't need to worry about me..." She knew it was not that simple. She knew Meera would worry either way. Because she loved her. And Romi loved Meera. "I didn't want you to see me like that."

He already knows none of this will leave the diner if he doesn’t want it to. The patrons will forget, willingly or unwillingly, that he ever made a spectacle of himself. Even if it somehow got leaked, who would believe Edward Weiss had been there at all? He can already hear the spin he’d put on it, the practiced amusement, the soundbite about weddings being expensive, yes, but not so expensive he’d ever need to frequent somewhere so downmarket. It would be easy - the easiest part of this.

Freezing over is usually a skill he can switch on and off at will, so the fact he’s struggling to keep his expression composed bothers him more than he'd care to admit. He tries retreating to some far-flung, glacial corner of his mind where nothing matters, where it's easy to be cruel, where he can look at his daughter and convince himself she’s just an obstacle instead of a baby he once held in his arms and promised the world to. “You were possessed long before you started whatever the fuck this,” he gestures sharply between them, then around the diner, “is. You were born that way. Cursed. Fucking evil.” Again, his mind slips to lullabies and voices for stuffed animals. Push it down. How can you call a child evil? He remembers exactly how it felt when his own parents would refer to him as the devil, like some irreparable wrongness had been identified in him before he’d even learned how to speak. The fucking damage it left behind, the anger it instilled that everyone around him still keeps paying for. And now he’s doing the same thing, reducing Romi to some kind of demon. “And you’re right: it wasn’t good enough. It’s never been good enough.”

She throws him a lifeline he doesn't deserve but knows he should take, a small chance to preserve a shred of dignity. He should be grateful; he isn't. Instead, he storms outside as though it were his suggestion, as though it doesn't count as defeat when it absolutely does. He’s desperate for a cigarette, already patting down his pockets, hands trembling hard enough that he hopes it can be chalked up to lingering rage rather than stress. He hasn’t slept properly since the wedding - too much nicotine, never enough rest, endless pacing around the manor. So sleep-deprived at one point that he’d had to throw a dust sheet over a portrait of his first wife because it had begun to feel like she was watching him - accusatory, hateful for everything he’d done to their daughters. They would’ve been better off without him; it's hardly news. He should’ve let them all go; they should've left him with his ambition to destroy himself without pulling them all down into hell with him.

“If I find anything else of yours,” he begins, not even sure if Romi's followed, could very well be speaking to dead air, “someone else will bring it here." He almost wants to add another threat about burning it, but feels too deflated to bother. "It was a mistake to come here."

It was odd--for the first time in a very long time, there was a side of him that she was suddenly privy to. And it wasn't his soft side. But just him being here, sneering at her, making a fucking scene--it was all so fucking weak. And it was bizarre, quite frankly, because she'd never known him to be any kind of weak. After all, he'd taught her how to sniff out weakness in the first place--and not only to be able to identify it but to be able to capture it and use it to your advantage. And now he was here in front of her, making himself the perfect target. And yet, she couldn't go in for the kill. That fact alone made her recognize her own weakness. Maybe the truth really was that the entire Weiss family were just a bunch of pussies pretending to be cold. You were possessed long before you started whatever the fuck this is. You were born that way. Cursed. Fucking evil. His words were full of vitriol and she was well aware of what was happening. He couldn't admit that she was somehow in his head. He couldn't just fucking say sorry for being a shitty dad. No, instead, he had to dig his heels in, too afraid to admit that he was wrong. The last thing he could do was admit defeat. And Romi knew this song and dance all too fucking well because she'd done it a million times herself.

And maybe that's why, instead of spewing insults right back at him like she'd been trained to do, she just chuckled. "I'm fucking evil now?... Do you hear yourself?" Quite frankly, she was tired of her customers gawking at the two of them and she was thinking about the mere possibility of showing him kindness. He certainly didn't deserve it. She knew that it would reflect badly upon her--but could this get any fucking worse? Clearly, there was something deep down inside of him that missed her, as shocking as the thought might be. Would he admit it? Fuck no. But she was almost certain it was there, underneath the surface--and yet, at the same time, she had that dark feeling lurking in the back of her head that this was all some sort of a trap and in fact, he didn't miss her at all. Maybe he really did think she was a demon from hell. And maybe she was...

Stepping out from the counter, she walked up to him and said "Well, if I came out of the womb fucking evil, it's because I'm your spawn. You reap what you sow, after all." Wasn't that the fucking truth? She felt like she'd be reaping what she'd sowed for the rest of her fucking life at this point. And you’re right: it wasn’t good enough. It’s never been good enough. He was simply echoing the words that rang through her head on a regular basis. "Then why the fuck are you here, Dad? What's the point? Why waste your precious time on me then?"

If I find anything else of yours, someone else will bring it here. It was a mistake to come here. "Keep that shit, I don't want it." That was a fucking lie. Anyone who knew Romi knew that she was a material person and if anything, she could at least sell that shit for cash she suddenly found herself so desperately needing these days. But her pride wouldn't allow her to admit to that. Like father, like daughter. "Why?" she challenged him. "Because I didn't beg for your forgiveness? Because I didn't kiss your fucking feet?" she said, waiting for him to turn around and look at her. "There was a time when I would have. And it wasn't fucking good enough. So I quit because I'd fucking had enough of your bullshit." She resisted the urge to yell Look at me! She wouldn't beg for his attention, not anymore. "And if I'm fucking evil, it's because you made me that way. Unfortunately, we're far more alike than different--much too close for comfort, really. But I'm the person that you raised me to be. And I didn't see a future for me in the Weiss business anymore so I left. And yeah, my life may not be as glamorous as it was but at least it's mine. It's my life. Can you say the same?"