Griffin Tugged Down The Hood Of His Sweatshirt As He Entered The Kitchen — Not Necessary To Be The
griffin tugged down the hood of his sweatshirt as he entered the kitchen — not necessary to be the more hermitic version of himself in kieran's presence — hands shoved in the pocket as he approached the counter. he wasn't sure what he expected when kieran told him to come downstairs, but the array of weapons spread out across the cold countertop weren't exactly what he had imagined. and he was sure his face said as much, eyes slightly widened and eyebrows shooting up his forehead, "this looks like a hunger games survival kit. who are you? haymitch?" he would be dead from the jump in that scenario. or maybe he'd hide like peeta. regardless, griffin wasn't sure of his skills with weaponry of any kind. "you're trying to cause me twenty-one more years of absolutely no dates, huh?" he gestured to the hello kitty taser, which looked about as threatening as a sleeping golden retriever despite its designated purpose. he looked up at kieran, "i'm gonna need a utility belt." then griffin paused, deciding to finally set the jokes aside and humor kieran as had been requested, a deep sigh pulled from his lips, "do you really think i'll be able to do anything useful with these things? not saying that they aren't useful, but i'm not the most..." he trailed off, glancing back down at the things his older brother had brought, "i feel like i'd just fuck myself up with the bear spray on accident or something like that, if y'know what i mean." he wasn't physically imposing like his brother and he wasn't exactly coordinated. he had thrown a punch maybe once in defense of angela when they were kids and he had missed and nearly fallen on his face which was mostly just incredibly embarrassing and not-at-all tough. but, all that aside, he understood what kieran was doing and why he was worried and he loved him for it. as a kid, griffin had practically hero worshipped kieran, thinking of him as a protector, as a person to emulate — everything an older brother is supposed to be. in some capacity, he still thought those things, but he knew, too, that now that they were older, kieran wasn't always around to be those things. griffin wasn't trailing behind him down the sidewalk like a shadow anymore. and even if he was, when if it came down to it, it seemed the boogeyman had no problem taking down those who seemed big and strong. griffin ran his fingers gingerly over the knuckle dusters, "it's only gonna get worse, huh? the murders and attacks? i mean, that was the pattern the first time, right?"
ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️ ﹚ ﹕ sometimes, looking at his brother felt like looking at himself⸻ a reflection of his own timid set of shoulders, the way anxiety and fear clung to him like cigarette smoke. and it was a terrifying thought, that griffin could be carrying all the same emotions he did when he was at that age. those feelings of being small and inconsequential, so insidious with how it could compel him to fold himself up in so many ways as to not take too much space and draw attention in such a big terrible world that devoured people like them. and there was nothing in this world he wouldn't do, not a sharp knife he wouldn't jump in front of, just to make sure his brother never think, even for a second, that he didn't matter— that his softness wouldn't be enough to keep him whole. but kieran also knew that he wouldn't always be able to protect griffin ﹕ not that kid who used to follow him and his friends around anymore, couldn't just put his hands over griffin's eyes whenever something abhorrent happened, like taylan beating someone up or finch pissing in the middle of street like a bad dog. though, maybe this could be a helpful⸻ objects solemnly laid out like artifacts on display, every item looking incredibly barbaric on top of their father's sleek choice for a countertop. a bear spray, bright orange, its purpose blaring like a hazard light ; the hello kitty taser he got on sale from amazon, as though violence could be sanitized by design ; and the knuckle dusters, inherently brutish, something primal made manifest. and kieran stared at them for a long time, as he wondered if his brother could stomach it ... how protection, if it came down to it, would demand more than tools. it called for instinct, resolve, the kind of hard calculus that turned you into something you might not recognize.
then, he thought about the memory of alaina price, not just the soft recollection of laughter or late night babysitting when they were kids, but the raw unflinching truth of the morgue. he'd been there when thierry gore unzipped the bag and made the first incision in that sterile and cold room. he was the one who weighed and cataloged her organs like they belonged to a stranger, not the girl who taught him how to braid piper's hair or told them monsters weren't real. and kieran had held her heart in his gloved hands, felt the emptiness in it, and wondered if she had known— really known— how brutal the world could be. how wrong she was about the monsters. and it was the kind of knowledge he couldn't risk griffin learning the same way. ❝ hey, c'mere for a second, ❞ kieran beckoned to the kitchen once griffin finally came downstairs, his expression quiet but deliberate, hand brushing briefly over the taser's smooth surface before retreating, as though unwilling to impose the weight of his fears too heavily on his brother. despite how raw the memory of seeing alaina's corpse was, the lacerations in her flesh, the way memories of her effortless smile had been replaced with seeing her lips purple and slack. ❝ just humor me, alright ? i want you to carry this stuff, please. ❞ no sharpness in his tone, no explicit urgency— only the quiet unyielding care of someone who had seen too much and refused to let it happen again. ❝ it gets dark so early now, i don't want you walking 'round without anything to protect yourself. ❞ @chappcdlips
More Posts from Chappcdlips and Others
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.
"i'm a mess?" shreya scoffed at her coworker/friend?/whatever the fuck that one summer was, dirty shirley clutched in her hand as she advanced toward him, "look in the mirror, dude. even on my worst day, i'm beautiful. ask anyone." she flashed a smile. she was teasing (mostly). "i don't even know how to play poker and i don't plan on ever learning, so we're safe." she was fine with knowing go fish and a number of drinking games — seemed more necessary. "plus, you shouldn't call me a mess after your headline this morning," she joked, poking bash in the ribs playfully as she deadpanned, "you're lucky i spent the morning processing and reflecting on the tragic events our town has been plunged into and not stationed at my desk, typing away like that cat who plays piano."
LOCATION: REDSTONE BAR TIME: LATE NIGHT STATUS: OPEN STARTER
WORDS PAINTED ON THE HEADLINE always tended to be main goal at the register. bash; however, prided himself on an immersive story that held facts. unfortunately, the only facts seemed to be everyone knew fucking nothing. still, the entire day had escaped sebastian as vision went blurry once hues grazed upon the same words over, over, and over again . . . there was nothing to be proud of with the article and quite frankly, he planned to erase any association to the scattered theories by having one, two, five drinks. it didn't help that since the notice of another local dead, pressure only skyrocketed for the next leak. after all, you're only as good as your next story.
attention whipped to another as they somehow caught his attention enough to lower the glass from his cracked lips. it would have been difficult to hold back the smirk peering on his lips if he gave a fuck enough to try to hide it. ❝ well aren't you a fuckin' mess , ❞ he blurted out the honesty as he took in the other's appearance. ❝ what ? you can't actually be trying to hide it . if so , definitely don't part-take in poker any time soon , ❞
he looked up, eyes landing on none other than foster. naturally anxious already, he could feel his anxiety ratchet up a notch, his mouth suddenly feeling drier, pulse racing. griffin looked at him with slightly wide eyes, shrugging, "i don't study, um, marketing." he didn't know what possessed him to try a business school joke, but it was too late to backtrack, so he just plowed on. he much preferred to talk about his book anyway, "relate? um.. not particularly," though, the loneliness... sometimes, "i just think shirley jackson is so masterful at building suspense, in... in storytelling, really. anyway... yeah, i could write a thesis on her." he ducked his head a bit sheepishly, not used to being put on the spot — and by put on the spot, he meant literally just being asked a question by someone outside of his family and close friends. if he were braver even a little bit, he would ask foster if jackson's work had ever influenced his, but then that would make it known that griffin had seen pretty much everything the other had made and that would be very embarrassing probably. griffin nodded then, humming, "i, um... stuff related to tech is over in aisle six. i can't promise there's polaroid film, but i know there's disposable cameras and that sort of stuff so... there's a chance?" he told him, "would hate to see you flee town, but i can't make any promises." in griffin's own head, it sounded like he was practically begging foster to not leave town. though, that didn't stop him from the follow-up question that required incredible bravery on his part, "what do you need it for?" maybe he'd even get the scoop on what foster was working on now, which was an exciting enough prospect to keep him from avoiding eye contact completely.
ꜜ ﹙ 📹 ﹚ ﹕ INTRODUCING A BEGRUDGING GARGOYLE HUNCHED OVER A BOOK ! couldn't even be bothered to look up when the bell above the door clanged its weary tune, foster entering the pharmacy and stamping snow off his boots onto the welcome mat. and he couldn't help but snort at halfhearted sales pitch tossed his way, funny how griffin's father probably had the charm to sell used condoms at the motel while the kid couldn't even look a customer in the eyes. ❛ you're really selling it there, champ. ❜ foster laughed, more tease than bite, as he stepped closer to the counter, boots squeaking faintly on the worn tiles. and he planted his palms on the counter, leaning just enough to catch sight of the book that must be so engrossing. a flicker of recognition crossed his features, eyebrows lifting lightly as he drew his gaze toward the younger man. ❛ hangsaman, huh ? you relate to it ? ❜ he asked, nodding toward the book, his voice dipping lower, gentler— not quite mocking now but probing, his curiosity piqued. ❛ the loneliness ? the descent to ... madness ? ❜ but foster was just half-joking with the inquiry, a small chuckle slipping past his lips as he fished his wallet out of his back pocket. ❛ i'm just here for some polaroid films, by the way. please tell me you've got some, or i swear i'm driving straight outta this town and never coming back. well, no. but i'm definitely not gonna be happy about it. ❜
cyrus barely registers that someone else is out there until he hears carlos' voice and when he does, he hardly flinches, eyes traveling over them in appraisal. in threat potential until he realizes that the other doesn't look altogether threatening. he's got maybe a hundred pounds on them he thinks, leaning against the side of building, arms crossing, "it's not me. and i'm gonna go out on a limb and assume it isn't you either, but looks can be deceiving." cyrus pulls out his phone and sends a quick text, the call he was about to make decidedly cancelld now that there's someone else present. he doesn't know carlos, but you can never be too careful who you say what around — especially in a town like red creek. "why are you standing back here alone if you're so afraid the killer's gonna get you anyway?" he asks with a chuckle, a teasing lilt to his voice, "that seems like a bad strategy."
𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘. behind redstone bar, 11:30pm 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛. anyone
𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗲. no matter how much carlos tells himself he should leave, that there are so many reasons he should get the hell out and return to life as he knew it ( despite the potential consequences they could face if ever ████████ ) they stay. carlos stays, trapped between its tragic grasp and forced to watch its horrific history unfold. under the impression of being alone, carlos jumps at the sudden noise, nearly dropping the cigarette held between their fingers. “ jesus, f — dude! you can't be doing that anymore, there's like, a killer out and shit! ” brief pause, eyes narrow at the person standing before him. it doesn't help that his response to all this is misplaced carelessness, the kind that could make you the first kill in a horror flick — not the kid who trips on air, but the one who stands face to face with the killer and laughs in disbelief. “ unless . . . the killer's you. is it you? ”
"what? it's even illegal to walk down the street these days?" her words come out in a deadpan as she stops in her tracks, a safe enough distance away to not scare the other even further. she's joking, mostly, but the tone doesn't leave her voice when she continues, "i'll start wearing a bell like a cat or somethin'." her own cat doesn't have a collar much less a bell – ritten is a citizen of the world, not fawn's house. her gaze flicks to the price house then and fawn hums, glove-free hands sliding into her warm coat pockets, "yeah, everyone's on edge. or on the edge. or both." she mutters, looking away from the house and back at maeve. growing up in town, she's accustomed to things suddenly becoming haunted. haunted by memory more than real ghosts. she was young twenty-five years ago, but she has pieces of memories of how things were before and after. her life was miserable before and after, so, really, she supposes it doesn't make that much of a difference. and yet, fawn, not a believer in anything, still finds herself avoiding the places that feel haunted. it's just what this town does to you. or maybe it's just what misery does to you. "it's only a matter of time before kids are breakin' in to try and see bloodstains or something." she shakes her head as if to shake that image away altogether. though, if she were younger, she may have been one of those kids, "but c'est la vie in red creek, i guess." fawn hums, a tight, mirthless smile slipping onto her lips.
🗝️ open starter for anyone. 📍 norwood street, just outside of maeve's front door.
✦ ⋰ norwood street feels particularly haunted now. it's a feeling that maeve can't escape – the moment she steps out of her front door, she's there. it's there. she often finds herself looking at the front door of alaina's home like a deer caught in headlights. so close, but impossibly far on the one night that it mattered. maeve nivans has finally met with a problem she couldn't fix ; alaina price was murdered- gone from red creek forever- possibly joined the uncomfortably long list of people that you just didn't talk about. she wonders if alaina's home will be notated as the price house in red creek history ; reduced to a horrific event & molded into a haunted house to prod at in the same way the thorne house was. her heart seizes at the thought. as she peers at alaina's front door, it almost feels like someone looks back — she nearly jumps out of her skin when she hears the footsteps. hand pressed to her heart, she nearly squeaks. ❝ oh my god. a warning would be nice. ❞ the anxiety is a new hurdle, too. an unwelcome guest that moved in with the ghosts on october 31st. she breathes out through her nose before offering a warmer expression– ❝ sorry, sorry. i'm just— on edge recently. you understand. ❞
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 .
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