ALEX CROSS

cyrus ends up at the church due to his need to be involved, to be seen, and he knows that when tragedy strikes? there will always be people that take solace in the lord. and there are always people more willing to talk after a tragedy and cyrus is always willing to endear himself to new people for his own sake, for his own reputation. even in tragedy, perseverance is important, he thinks. he looks over at santi as he speaks, a sigh leaving his lips, "some people cane be your neighbor and still be a stranger. i'm sure she didn't hold it against you." or maybe she did. cyrus certainly didn't know kirby. "and i bet you never forgot after she told you, right? so i think you're settled up."

🗝️ open to all. 📍 redemption chapel, jan 24th.

the news breaks, as does half of red creek alongside it. there's an unfair lump lodged in santiago's throat. he wasn't close to kirby ; her death was not his to mourn, and yet ... he sits in the back pew of redemption chapel, hands wound in his hair. it was between here & the cemetery— the weather chose for him. he breathes in, has a hard time breathing out. halloween night plays through his mind. ❝ i asked about her name. ❞ he wants to laugh at the memory, but doesn't have the heart. a puff of frustration leaves him instead, ❝ grow up in a box like red creek & i still had to ask for her name. jesus– ❞

embarassing to want things like love and attention

attempting to get a cup of coffee before he headed home, cyrus was distracted by the voice beside him at the counter. he glanced over at soren, an eyebrow lifting, "it's because it's bad for you." he deadpanned, too irritated to actually put up any sort of act. his day had been too long and the statement too annoying. cyrus was practically pathological about how he treated his own body and so always thought that everyone else must hold themselves to the same standards, "your body is a temple. everything you put in it matters." cyrus explained, tone only really slightly pretentious, "you're too young to be messing up your body like that." he shook his head, "what is it? the aesthetic of cigarettes? not worth the smell or the diseases. trust me." he sighed, thanking the waitress as she set his coffee in front of him, "stick to caffeine or something. and don't start that damn vaping. we don't even know the long-term health consequences of that."

location: dolly's diner time: late afternoon status: open!

something about diners. greasy leather seats. overheard secrets tangled up with the clatter of forks. bitter, often stale coffee -- unless you got lucky enough to walk in when the place was mostly empty. unlikely. the kind of place where time hangs heavy, like it got tired and sat down to rest in the corner booth. red creek felt the same, like it had long surrendered to time’s weight instead of running alongside it. no reinvention, no salvation -- just a stubborn place clinging to people like mud after rain, or maybe quicksand, tugging until they sank without a fight. soren didn't have to imagine dark things haunting its bones when its effect where already laying there, sprawled out for anyone willing to see. maybe ancient spirits seeking revenge after having their forever homes suffocated with asphalt and cement. maybe nothing at all, just the weight of a town folding in on itself, vanishing into a fog you didn’t know you’d entered until it was too late. soren wouldn't flinch if someone shattered the silence with a lynchian scream -- sinister close-ups, faces trembling under the pressure of things better left unsaid -- right there in the diner, right as he staed at his gone stale coffee. and perhaps it was his obsession with intricate stories that blurred the line with reality, but twin peaks really didn't feel like fiction anymore; it was a blueprint, a warning for places like this, where the mundane teetered on the edge of surreal, where time sagged, like peeling wallpaper in a room sealed off for too long, and good people stumbled into band endings. even diners -- those greasy churches of familiarity -- could warp into confessional booths. soren let his face fall into his hands, elbows propped at the sides of the cup of coffee. if it had been steaming, it would've made a perfect shot. “ you know what's bullshit, ” he spoke as soon as he felt a presence next to him finally glad to push his inner monologue onto someone else, anyone unlucky enough to hear. he continued as his hands dropped to his lap, revealing a face worn thin by restless nights. “ the fact that they made it illegal to smoke in public places. especially diners. ” though it wasn't just diners. it was also cinemas, trains, pubs.... a beat. then two fingers lifted to his lips, mimicking the pitch of a cigarette between index and thumb. soren inhaled theatrically, face tilting upward as though savoring the hit. then, just as theatrically, he ground the phantom amber into an imaginary glass ashtray, the kind with ornate edges. clock. sound design coming from his tongue against his palate and he swat the phantom ashtray away, still dipped in his interactive daydream.

fawn's head whips around as kingsley speaks up and she snorts, "i never suspected you, trust me, but i would support you if you were." she tells him as they fall into step together, lengthening her stride slightly to keep pace with his longer legs. "you're right, though, it's definitely some annoying white guy. but the idea of a hot girl or NB is a nice thought, y'know as i support women and queer people's wrongs." she may draw the line at serial killing, but it really depends on how hot the perpetrator ends up being. plus, maybe they have a really good reason — you never know. fawn hums, inclining her head slightly in thought, "yeah, i hear you, but boogeyman kinda gives me scooby doo villain and that's a little less scary than just saying 'oh yeah, the brutal serial killer tormenting red creek.' it could be somethin' scarier like... the red creek ripper. that's more threatening, i think." not that fawn will admit any fear regarding the situation. she has enough going on in her life to worry about. "you'd make a really good shaggy if we were doin' real life scooby doo." fawn muses with a teasing grin on her face, "i don't think i fit the velma or daphne archetype unfortunately. plus, i'm sexier than both of them, no offense to hanna-barbera or whoever the fuck." the thought evokes the memory of mornings, siblings sat on the trailer floor watching reruns of old cartoons as she tried to make breakfast, but she shakes the remembrance away quickly, "ritten can be scooby, just a lot more temperamental."

○    NOW DELIVERING TO . . .    ⏤ @chappcdlips !

kingsley squints at the familiar figure walking on the other side of the street . that slumping of shoulders is par to his own , although kingsley leans back more as he walks ( like something out of ed , edd and eddy ) . people walk in very distinct ways , and kingsley has always enjoyed seeing the tiny mannerisms that make up a person . for fawn , she walks leaning forward , hair curtaining off everyone , quick steps that slow down every now and then as if she's remembering she's not in a race . his lips quirk up and he crosses the street easily , picking up his pace to try and catch up with fawn . even though he's tall , fawn is FAST . it takes him a few moments to realise that a grown man following a woman right now is probably not something that is very ASSURING . he clears his throat . " i'm not the boogeyman . i have a feeling that guy's white . 82% of american serial killers were white , so that's just statistics, you know ? " kingsley states as way of introduction . " then again , gender isn't real . i guess it could be a hot girl killing everyone . or some cute NB . " he shrugs , thoughts spinning in his mind . " also , should we even be calling him boogeyman ? isn't that SERIAL KILLER 101 ? don't call them by their name cause it gives them more power ? " kingsley has a lot of thoughts on the entirety of the situation , but he mainly keeps them to himself . well . to himself, and to fawn .

for? JUNE ( @bittenmoths ) where? outside white pine auto garage

"if i get my car serviced here, are you gonna cut the brakes?" fawn teases when she spots june. she's smoking a cigarette and leaning against the hood of her car — a red 2008 buick lacrosse that she bought off a guy on craigslist over in traverse city. and as much as she's tried to fix the problem herself, she is not that kind of lesbian. and as much as she's not overly confident in june's skills to fix her car, there are other employees and she assumes they were hired for a reason. she's never really bothered to ask. she doesn't know what june actually does there, really. fawn crushes her cigarette under her boot and stands up straight, eyes flicking over the other liao, "i took all the valuables out. can never be too careful." and, honestly, if fawn were in her shoes, she would immediately check the console and the glove compartment for something good. fawn knows that part of her runs in their genes. like blue eyes or the potential to have a widow's peak. there's some metaphor or joke about how the apple's rotten right to the core, but that's not really fawn's style.

She shuffled into the kitchen, running a hand through her messy hair as she took in the sight before her, "So glad it's you and not the goddamn Boogeyman." The timing of the joke is, admittedly, horrible, but she's never been subtle. "What time did you get here?" Shreya thought she might have heard something in the middle of the night, but she figured it was either her brother or her cat. If it was anything else? She was willing to face the consequences and die honorably. "Now, if I bought even a single piece of asparagus, I think the world might end. The Boogeyman, who is obviously surveilling me as one of the town's top journalists, could notice my change in pattern and suspect me of knowing something and BAM dead." She sat at the small table by the window, sighing dramatically, "And you wouldn't want that, right?"

Then, Shreya sobered slightly, resting her elbows on the table, "I'm surprised you don't have to work right now. Is it not all hands on deck?" She asked, already thinking about what she may have to write about the incident this coming week. "It's really fucking awful." And there's no way to get through it but to joke about her own mortality, obviously. "What's the sheriff saying? Anything?" She added, "This is all off the record, by the way, I'll save my scheming journalist bit for at least noon."

closed starter with: darshan and shreya (@chappcdlips) setting: shreya's home, 9am, the day after the incident

His eyes fluttered open, and a strangled gasp forced its way out of his painfully dry throat as he struggled to recognize his surroundings, but the panic settled as the comfort of familiarity took hold. It was Shreya’s couch, in Shreya’s living room, in Shreya’s home, where he’d let himself in at 3am after finding sleep impossible at his own home. Darshan wiped the trail of drool off his cheek, sitting up and stretching his aching back before wandering to her kitchen, opening the fridge- only to see a truly meager selection of food between the tupperware containers of his own leftovers. A stray carton of eggs saved the day, and he’d set off to make breakfast when he heard the shuffle of feet. “Hey, lazy bones. Did I wake you?” His voice was casual, but there was an unmistakable horror laced in every syllable. How could he shake the guilt? How could he cope with the relief he felt when he confirmed that the young girl found dead in town hall was not his family member? As if that made it better- that the loss was not his own. “You should really get some vegetables in your fridge, or something, you know. Even an apple, or a single piece of broccoli. Give your poor microwave a break, before it unionizes against you.” 

an unfortunate situation. griffin thinks that's a bit of an understatement, but he can tell from the look on his dad's face that he isn't necessarily in the greatest headspace. neither is griffin, to be fair. neither is most of the town, probably. he lets out a breath, nodding at his dad, "it's... it doesn't really feel real, y'know?" and he knows it's still fresh and there aren't a lot of details, but it's so surreal.

he's a little bit terrified and a lot worried about his family and the people he cares about. he wants nathan to tell him that everything is going to be fine, but griffin knows he can't, he knows that's an impossible ask. with everything that's been going on? he can't see a future where things get better, just maybe less terrifying. because even if he survives this, if everyone he loves survives this, nothing will ever be the same. "i don't work today, so... yeah, yeah, i'll be home. i'll stay home." griffin nods. he swallows hard, tugging on the sleeves of his sweatshirt as he stares at his dad. "dad..." he hesitates a moment, feeling a little bit stupid at what he's considering asking, once again that same seven-year-old instinct washing over him, his cheeks go pink with embarrassment, "can i hug you?"

〔　🦂　〕　　…　　𝗶𝗻  𝗮𝗻  𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘁  𝘁𝗼  𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗹  𝗵𝗶𝗺𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳,  nathan  looks  griffin  in  the  eyes,  hopes  the  presence  of  his  youngest  son  could  help  pull  himself  together  but  the  forlorn  look  on  his  face  is  almost  enough  to  break  him.  his  heart  is  caught  in  his  throat,  trapped  between  the  scream  trying  to  claw  its  way  out  of  him  and  all  the  secrets  he  cannot  dare  to  say.  the  answer  is  so  simple  —  she  was  murdered  —  and  yet  he  can't  bring  himself  to  say  it  out  loud.  never  in  his  life  has  he  felt  so  powerless,  drained  of  all  the  confidence  that  typically  came  to  him  like  second  nature.  it  used  to  be  so  easy  answering  all  of  griffin's  questions,  but  not  he  doesn't  even  know  what  to  say.  “  an  unfortunate  situation,  that's  what.  ”  but  it's  more  than  that,  and  he  knows  it.  it's  an  act  of  violence,  it's  a  warning.  kirby's  death  was  likely  not  a  stroke  of  bad  luck  if  whoever  killed  her  is  trying  to  put  the  blame  on  him.  the  only  thing  nathan  doesn't  know  is  why.  he  heaves  a  heavy  sigh.  “  would  it  be  be  too  much  to  ask  you  to  stay  home  today?  i  can't  —  i  —  ”  i  can't  risk  losing  you  too.  “  i  don't  think  it's  safe  to  be  outside  right  now.  ”

"yeah, if you're a masochist who wants to get your heart broken, a mess is alluring." and she had plenty experience with that sort of attraction unfortunately, but it always made for a good story and isn't that what really mattered at the end of the day? "alright, alright, relax, i'm just giving you shit. the article was fine, bash. not a lot you can fucking do in this sort of situation." shreya shrugged before taking a long drink of her dirty shirley. she stirred the straw around, tilting her head to the side and humming, "i mean, i'm glad i didn't have to write it." she'd rather stick to the not highly publicized stuff. she was, of course, a self-proclaimed personality hire.

THE SMOOTH BUZZ WAS a lazy attempt to rid of any frustrations vibrating within his body. the whole town felt on edge, ready to fall at the slightest drop of a pin. he shrugged at shreya's rebuttal nonchalantly. ❝ never mentioned beauty , some people would argue even messes can be alluring , ❞ he meant that truly, even if it wasn't relevant for the woman side him. what were humans if not all poetically broken? still, the dig at the headline caused his lighthearted mannerisms to tighten. it wasn't something he was particularly proud of, which was unfortunate considering he was rather protective over his work. but news came out, deadlines were due, the opportunity was painted in red that now stained his hands. ❝ right , like i had a fucking choice . ' hey bennett , can i take the day off to mourn this latest tragdy ? ' ' yeah , let's just shut down the register for the day . ' that sounds practical . ❞ he mused with irritation, rolling his eyes in irritability as he downed his drink in response.

If I don’t drive you crazy then what’s the point