starters

“Do you think that half of these people have even seen a noir film?” Felix questioned, turning his face to the person near him. “I mean, I’m not saying I have. Unless Gone Girl counts as noir. I just think like, they didn’t get the memo,” he said, waving his hand over at a girl dressed as what appeared to be a…. bloody cheerleader? Was she going for Jennifer Check? She looked good, but definitely not on theme. “Did you know that Agatha Christie faked her own death once? She was the original Gone Girl,” he stated, flashing them a grin, taking a sip of his drink, something sweet from a punch bowl. Briefly he worried that it might be spiked with something. His cream colored shirt was stained red with fake blood on his stomach, like he had been shot in the gut. “and meanwhile the other half of the student body is taking this theme too seriously. Wanna place a bet on whether someone will actually get murdered tonight? My money’s on a classics major. They’ve all read The Secret History too many times.” @yatesstarters

campus security was on their ass but thankfully on their skateboard, teddy wallace was TOO quick to catch, brunette locks rushing behind her as she sped through the quad. they outwardly cursed though at the sight of the christian club, grouping together and blocking their path as they handed out fliers that plead for pro-life. with an eye roll, they have no choice but to hop off their board and book it by feet as campus security ran after them. spotting an opened window, teddy shoved their board in and quickly rolled in afterwards as they collapsed onto the floor of another person’s room. “hey.” teddy said nonchalantly, a bit out of breath as they tempted to tame the wild locks atop of their head, “wanna hang out?” and in case that offer wasn’t tempting enough, “i have weed.”

“Did you write on my doorway in tacky red lipstick?” Thea demands, holding out the weapon of choice in its little ziplock bag in which she’d placed it. “It’s wet n wild, that shit smells like crayons and regret.” Doing her best not to stomp her foot. “Second, seriously? you leave it behind? fingerprints, man. Work smarter not harder.” @yatesstarters​

OPEN STARTER

Word of the Silver Spur barn burning down had spread across campus just as fast as the fire itself. In spite of this, Delilah remained cool as a fresh mint TicTac. She was sitting in the quad at a picnic bench with a leg crossed over and a citrus yellow highlighter poised in hand, occasionally running over lone words in one of her module’s textbooks. There was a tapestry being woven in her brain, words plucked and pieced to form a full sentence, full context of which she’d never give to anyone. Crush was the last. It seemed very likely, if you genuinely knew Delilah – a concept which was rare in itself – that the jigsaw put together would involve some form of threat, penance for snooping inside her things in the first place. Whoever she’d taken a seat opposite wouldn’t know anything from her pupils’ lack of dilation, eye drops blinked to bury evidence. “Have you been called in about it, yet?” Another highlight. “The barn. They’re making quite the fuss, trying to find whoever did it,” left her mouth like it was a clear exaggeration, bored sigh parting her lips. “I’d care more if any goats had died in there. They eat anything, it’s disgusting. I love it. An underrated animal, if you ask me.” @yatesstarters​

It was late enough on campus that Val wasn’t overly concerned about being caught with a joint. The quad was mostly empty, only a few people passed by, clutching their phones with covert smiles or leaving the library with a pile of books and a nervous twitch. The usual hustle and bustle was replaced with a creeping silence and eerie glow, the yellow street lamps and blue campus safety alarms bathing the grounds in vomit green light. She didn’t know how long she stood there staring, stuck in her head with a relentless, rapid-fire stream of consciousness that wouldn’t let up, but it was long enough that when she zoned back in and noticed someone beside her, she gasped. “Fuck,” she laughed a hand thudding against her heart. “God, what the fuck was that gasp. Did you hear that? That was like, full soap opera. How long have you been standing there?” @yatesstarters​

Red suede boots tapping, swinging back and forth as she sat with her legs stuck through the Calloway railings, Ingrid looked like a petulant toddler put in a playpen for a time out. Sitting on the landing, she knocked her feet together, starting to slide one of her boots off with the other foot, smiling deviously, tracing the path it would take to hit a boy in a leather jacket if she finished with the task. But then she stopped herself, leaving it dangling form the end of her foot, looking up, eyes briefly recognizing someone. “you can really see everything from up here. Saw some guy nearly yak onto the girl who’s ass was grinding on him. Exhilarating,” she informed them, although if she were excited by the sight, her face didn’t portray it. The vintage, white fox-fur coat slung loosely around her shoulders nearly dwarfed the blonde, like she was lying in a snowbank, flakes gradually burying her. “You want to sit? The floorboards are more comfortable than they look,” she offered, gesturing to the space next to her, finger tracing a small circle on the floor. “I’m surprised there’s another party so soon after the ranch. Want to go in on the class action lawsuit I’m filing against Yates for liver damage?”

the blonde was more sober than she’d of liked to of been, but the night was still young and there was a magnetic glow that sat atop her shoulders like a perched bird. she was adorned in classic levi’s, a vintage pair she had found in paris while scouring a secondhand store, a givenchy white button down, and matching cow print boots and cowboy hat. she had taken liberty in exploring the desert grounds herself, finding leather chaps and a saddle hung over a wooden fence that was nearly giving in on one side further down. she made herself comfortable, hoisting up her petite body on the fence that was sturdy enough, clicking her heels together as her legs dangled. “say, hypothetically, how many drinks would it take for you to let me try shooting an apple off your head?” she asked out to the nearest person, brown eyes already fixating towards the shooting range bullseye’s that stood past the fence. 

The room’d been near short of a mess; magazines thrown open and scattered about the table alongside cutouts and paper scraps, poster board propped up on an extra chair and glue still purple. Still - even hard at work, at something, of some sorts - there hadn’t been a single hair out of place on Poppy’s head, pulled back in strawberry clips and blush tipping the top of her nose. She’s in her own world, seemingly, adding each cropped image with a watchful eye; it isn’t until she feels a presence in the doorway that she tosses a glance away from the project, takes a double glance - “Oh! Oh my - I’m sorry, did you reserve this room?” Poppy straightens out - brushes imaginary dirt from her skirt; for a moment it looks like she’s about to curtsy, fingertips brushing the hems of fabric, but they stay still, stay there. “I’m sorry - I must’ve lost track of time - I’ve been creating a vision board! See?” She scoots away - gestures towards the poster with a confident green, “For the ranch trip - I want to be very prepared, you know?”

it wasn’t exactly like saffie to appear sloppy. detached and often seemingly on her own plane of existence, sure, but you didn’t typically find her entirely out of it. while she may have come off apathetic and somewhat away from it all, she was never completely lost. she kept her wits about her, as much as any aware-yet-ultimately-uncaring young woman should. if you didn’t know her, however, and were just seeing her for the first time, you probably wouldn’t put such words to the girl. it was three p.m. at the thinking cup, with an unsurprising swell of students filtering in and out in attempt to get over their afternoon slump. sunlight filtered in through the picturesque windows, giving a soft, golden glow to one seraphina albright, fast asleep and slumped over one of the corner tables. her laptop was still open and scrawled notes covering most of its surface. she was like a rare and alien fish in a bowl—bright red hair, doll-like lips, and dangling limbs on wide display. perhaps it’d be tempting for someone to tap on the glass, get a reaction, but no one had yet and so she remained unbothered. that is, until some motion or another jolted her from her unexpected nap. “hm?” she hummed, eyelids slowly fluttering open a few times. “did you need something?” a hand pulled some intruding locks from her vision as she sat up. though admittedly out of character, saffie acted as though this were nothing out of the usual, masking her confusion with a void expression. @yatesstarters​

“ so , survey time . ” he held himself with all the professionalism and regality of a disgraced prince , back straight but a tiredness only explained by a hangover brought on by a few bottles of wine and maybe a few shots of fireball he definitely shouldn’t have taken . “ scenario one : you have this best friend , and they’re a total asshole , ” his words are spoken with a dramatic flare , hands dancing along to them , a habit picked up from his mother’s side of the family . “ and maybe you got a little too drunk around them and a tattoo gun . now , you’ve got ‘ martha dumptruck ’ tattooed on your ass and you need a cover up . what do you get ? ” @yatesstarters​

“So I get that it’s a ranch or whatever —” she begins, scrolling and clicking mindlessly on her laptop at her table near the center of campus. “But I really could use some clarification on.. literally anything. Theme within a theme? A dress code? Like are we going full Annie Get your Gun country? The Simple Life country? Are we sticking to the masses and being Space Cowgirls? I trust nothing anymore. Do I or do I not pack glitter.” @yatesstarters​

Freshly manicured fingertips drummed absentmindedly against a plastic cup of something Sofia couldn’t actually pronounce, which she was sipping from slowly as someone sat down next to her. “If you decide to make a trip for refreshments… beware of the weird hairy guy hovering over the table. He tried to lift up my dress,” she warned without skipping a beat, brown eyes focused on the drink in her hand. Her face contorted in disgust at the memory. “I don’t know if he’ll actually try anything else tonight, though. I kicked him in the shin seconds after his grabby hands reached for my ass. I just thought I should start warning people.”

“I lost my shoes,” she’s a dazed voice coming from above; sat dangerously at the top of a library ladder, only cushion being a slight dip of the second story shelving. she’s also more tulle than girl - it engulfs her, green the exact shade of tulip stems. “i think the rabbit man took them, but i don’t want to walk around without them.” the library is bustling with noise and her voice isn’t much louder, like she’s afraid of a lurking librarian - one who stalks the aisles and silently laments; phantom of alderidge. “can you help me? they were versace and pretty.” 

“You’re late,” It’d been a sharp look - eyes gazing up from shuffling cards; the table set up for a tea party, ribbon lacing the edges of table cloth and mismatch fine china. No cup the same size - no liquid the same in each one, either. “You’re late, you’re late, you’re late,” It was more repeated phrase than chastise - a chant, almost - eyes gazing down, again, scanning the card she’d just drawn. “Four of spades - that’s pretty bad. Signals, fuckin’ - major change in the universe. Anyways - “ Holli spread out the deck - they’d all been four of spades, patterned black and red, “ - Y’wanna play a card game? Y’can bet anythin’ - money, drugs, secrets, clothes. Your pick.”

Dark eyes narrowed over a cup of wine as Leo gauged her surroundings; the air was musky, alive with bodies of her peers covered in tulle, velvet, even gold as they guffawed and cackled and joked, entertaining themselves with their own theatrics. No more than five minutes could she go without overhearing some grossly overquoted phrase hailing from the very inspiration of the event. Long legs stretched out in front of her as she leaned against a wall, cocking her head to the side and speaking to the person just steps away, not bothering to glance at them before opening her mouth. “So,” she drawled, “if you were to guess the ratio of Red Queens to White Queens, what would you estimate?”