Paper Dolls (IC)

[KatSea]

The Tophet Journal
June 21, 2018
A Summer to Remember

Another morning greets the grand town of Tophet, and with it, speculation and mischief. As of late last night, more odd reports of vandalism to the Black Rose Pub have popped up. Alarmingly frequent, the owners have quietly and efficiently cleaned the mess, which as they claimed "Contained vulgar and vile references to gothic literature, as well as Apocalyptic threats." The entirety of what these writings may have been is not fully clear, as the owners, who refuse to give more information, have proven to be stubborn and fruitless in an investigation vital to their pub's own survival.

In other, more joyous news, Tophet's economy has hit an all time high as tourism has doubled from last summer's numbers. The historical center is open for business as of last Friday, Tophet's museum and aquarium is ready to go, and our Seaside Inn is happily accepting those willing to pay for their luxurious rooms, ballroom, and of course fine dinning. Tophet's Summer of Love celebration also provides numerous activities for tourists and fellow citizens alike to enjoy. Local bands, artists, and a variety of creative minds will be meeting at the docks early Tuesday morning, where the celebration will properly begin.

The historical center is also offering what they call is their first ever murder walk, in honor of those who have perished years ago. A special memorial will be held tomorrow evening for the children affected by El Diablo, and in preparation for this, our own Mayor Bullock will be attending and recommends to bring a variety of flowers. Personally, I, myself, will also be there for the mourning of my own sister. It is greatly appreciated, wonderful citizens of Tophet, for the attendance of this memorial and for the memory given to the children who have suffered. Just recall, dear citizens and tourists, this can happen to anyone. Even in the brightest of summers.

Be sure to be safe, do not over drink in the pub past midnight, and always make sure you have a loved one near to get you home safely. Have a wonderful day, lovely townspeople of our grand settlement.

Isaiah William Killgan.

 

[KatSea]

Mortimer Corson



Seta's crying woke Mortimer up from a restless night of tossing and turning in the old motel bed, covered in tattered and torn sheets. He had set up Seta's crib right next to him in case of emergency, but, much to his surprise, she slept soundlessly through the night. Now, Mortimer assumed, Seta was hungry. Rightfully so. The trip from Bangor to Dover, then down to Tophet was tiring and long. Mortimer was never comfortable in a small, tight space for so long, and he knew that his small, precious baby was not going to react well from being away from home. Mortimer missed Bangor too, as much as he hated to admit it. With it's abandoned mall, small colleges, and of course, Stephen King's home nearly a block away from Lana's residence. Bangor had it's perks. Tophet was a mere reminder of the hurt and trauma that Mortimer endured at a small age of seven years old. But the motel was ever the same. The dim lights flickered on and off without warning. Cracks in the wall, as well as the noises emitting from the other rooms. Mortimer never understood what his mother meant by "Lovers in the night go to sleep tight." until recently. This disturbed him, and he was relieved that it seemed to dissipate after a short two hours.

"Seta, my sweet ~ " He cooed gently the baby as he propped himself from his bed, gingerly hopping to his feet and retreating to the crib. The red faced, screaming child seemed to take no head at Mortimer's words, and was not calmed until Mortimer took her into his arms. Bouncing her gently, Mortimer began to hum "Goodnight my angel it's time to close your eyes..." Mortimer sighed as she continued her cries and bounced her as he strolled to the refrigerator, bringing out the formula he had concocted in case of emergency. Guilt overwhelmed him that he could not provide for Seta beyond the formula and cradling, he could not provide natural nourishment, nor could he hold her the way a mother held their child. He was on his own with this human being, small and fragile, who he loved above all else. After feeding her, he gently patted her back, withholding a sigh as he made sure that she let out a loud, proper...

He laughed to himself now as a loud, horrid sound emitted from the tiny human's mouth. "Gross my love." He places her back in the crib, pleased that now she was calm. Calmer at least. He dressed himself, adorned himself with the fanciest tie he could have afforded, a little green bowtie. He hurried out as he brushed his hair back, huffing in and out, nerves building up within him. What if they didn't recognize him? What if they rejected him? What if that man, Mister Mendel, was right? He discussed what happened within that house, and his mother was dead because of it? No. That was ridiculous. A man could not have been so all knowing as to perceive that horrible night. The cries Mortimer released, the comfort of Lana...her hands upon him...Sweet...loving...

"I can't wait for you to meet her Seta. I think she will love you." Mortimer mused, taking her within his arms once more. Mortimer feared the outcome of his journey. He would either be wrapped in a joyous hug, or suffer the horrible truth, he was gone far too long to reunite. He supposed it was his fault. Fear was too prominent until now. When Seta needed him. She needed a good family. She needed stability. The Corson family could provide this. "There is nothing not to love about you." Pressing a gentle kiss to his baby's forehead, Mortimer lingered for a brief moment. The situation in which Seta was brought into the world was tragic, but to Mortimer, she was God's gift to him.

Now that Mortimer was ready, and it was a bright eight thirty in the morning, Mortimer exited his room. Trailing his way to the front door, he waved goodbye to the weary desk handler, continuously bobbing Seta in his grasp. She rested easily against his chest as he made his way outside, the fresh sea breeze pleasant to his senses. "Welcome home." He mumbled to himself, attempting to recall his way back home from here. If they still lived at the proper address. Mortimer figured that, with all patterns connected to Tophet, no one left the comfort of their sameness.

Beginning his journey, he found that what appeared to be an hour long walk as a child transformed into a simple ten minute stroll. His eyes soon caught sight of the home, his heart fluttering in his chest at a thousand miles per hour. "My darling angel. Guide me to sanity." He whispered lightly, approaching the side door where he could remember nearly breaking his arm, when he was five years old. He had run too quickly from the other side of the deck, which had appeared to be torn down. "That damned thing always gave mother problems." He recalled audibly, apologizing now for his vulgar language around his child.

"What do you want?" He heard suddenly, for he had not even knocked upon the door. Before him...His mother had not aged. She was still a beauty, even after fifteen years. Her brunette hair bounced gently at her shoulders, her big hazel eyes glazed with exhaustion. "Look, if you are lost there are other's who can..."

"Mrs Corson?" Mortimer asked gently, terror nipping at his skull. "It's me. Morty. Mo." Her eyes went wide, skimming him up and down, inspecting him for truth or deceit. Her eyes glued to the baby, then to Mortimer himself. "I...I can prove it too. It's..."

"Get off my property." She demanded harshly, fury bubbling in her eyes. "My son died fifteen years ago. Get out."

"M-mom..." He pleaded desperately, but was merely greeted with a shut door, his heart hammering in his chest as hot tears threatened to trickle down his cheeks. In his arms, Seta began to wail.

 

[Mobley Eats]

Reginald Bullock | Location: Bus to Tophet

Fuck buses and fuck all of the suspicious smells in here!

Reggie sat tucked into a booth, his shoulders scrunched up and brow scrunched down like a grumpy caveman. His situation wasn't exactly ideal; sharing seats with who he was certain to be a perverted hobo made the ginger's hackles rise. His poor jacket, a brand ever so expensive and well-renowned, was surely brushing elbows with his funky boot partner. Goddamn you, you fucking turd on legs! Reggie mentally hissed. His fiery eyes were glued to the window, studying each and every passing tree and vehicle like it was a game. Blue Sedan, porcelain Jaguar, Silver BMW, jet black van...

The van made him sneer. Admiring the view became pointless now.

But still, his brain functioned on a irritable plane of duality; one half concocted possible threats towards the pervert in case he decided to flash that horrid yellowing smile his way, while the other envisioned his head smacking into a brick wall repeatedly. He was pissed. Beyond pissed--at himself. For losing his composure. For falling so deep into his own desire for something true and wholesome and forever. For suddenly succumbing to a despair so innately childish and pathetic, that he had forced his own hand. Now he had to say bye bye to his life, to his future of ballet and performance, and toss out a grand (spiteful) hello to the hick town he was dragged out of.

A shift from his right. The hobo clutched his own coat, which was caked in layers upon layer of grime and other disgusting substances that Reggie refused to contemplate. His hot, stale breath invaded Reggie's space. "So wur ya headed anyhow?" the hobo asked. Reggie's mouth pinched into a thin line, his steely eyes set straight ahead. He wasn't there. Nope. Nobody was talking to him. Definitely not--"Yur so quiet..." The literal bane of Reggie's existence smiled toothily (more like toothless), revealing those rows of evil corn kernels. A dirty finger hovered near the ginger's temple. "What be goin' on in that there skull of yers?"

Reggie flipped his shit.

Hands shooting up to block the assault, he yelled, "For fuck's sake, don't touch me!" He shot up, clawing the seats in front of him like a kitten scurrying from the water. "Driver! Driver! Pull this fucking hunk of metal from hell over! Now!!" There weren't many passengers, but the ones present openly stared at Reggie as if she was madman. The hobo from earlier had whistled innocently while slinking over to an empty booth, thoroughly spooked by Reggie's outburst.

"Jesus!" The driver smacked and punched the wheel in equal exasperation. "Again? Are you fucking kidding me?! You know what," He pulled the bus over onto the side of the road and spun around to glare daggers at Reggie, "Get off! Go, just go for the love of God!"

Breathing fire, Reggie gathered his suitcase and stormed down the aisle, tossing dirty glares affectionately crafted for every passenger. His glare for the driver was especially packed with love. Gritting his teeth and freckles camouflaged by the heat filling his face, Reggie growled, "Good fucking riddance! Couldn't stand another hour on this bloody piece of shit! You call this decent transportation??"

"We were literally five minutes away from the damn stop!" The driver spiked his hat to the floor and pointed at the exit. "Walk the rest of the way! Seven fucking times is ridiculous!"

Reggie's snarl peeled back to reveal teeth. He huffed and walked off, stomping on the driver's hat as he did so. Once he had descended the bus, he turned around and glared at the driver. "And for your bloody information, it was nine ti--"

The bus door slammed shut. Without missing a beat, it sped off, kicking up clouds of dust into Reggie's face. The ginger grimaced and spat as much of the dirty from his lungs as he could. He was left alone--with Tophet clearly in sight. Straightening his hair and dusting off his coat, he set off for the town entrance at a relaxed pace, as if he hadn't just now been booted off a bus.

"Fucking Christ...I need a drink," he mumbled.

 

[Mobley Eats]

Kahlila "Kal" Frambrosia Johnson | Location: Tophet | Interactions: Reggie

"Ooooh snap, it's my jaaaaaaaaam~!" Kal's arm pumped in excitement as the bass literally shook the foundations of her Soul Kia. Her shades glimmered charmingly in the midday sun as the wind whipped her hair about her shoulders. Hey, road trips weren't road trips without some bomb ass tunes, and the one booming to life was sending jolts of energy through her body. The beat started to pick up and awaken her senses until the first lyrics dropped. She joined the sassy artist, singing loudly and without a care in the world.

"My name is Kaly! I'm so very, fly oh my, it's a little bit scary!" Kal had switched up the words to fit accordingly, a smug smile peeking through as she bobbed and swung about carelessly. The road was a clear shot ahead and behind anyways--she was vigilant enough. "Girls wanna marry, lookin' at my derri! Yeah you can look but if you touch it, I'mma bury!" The jam session had lasted two hours now, at the very least, but Kal didn't plan on resting her poor vocals anytime soon. It was her car, her kickass little pocket of solitude, and about twenty more minutes of cruising before reaching Tophet.

"Pretty as a picture, sweeter than a swisher! Mad cuz I'm cuter than the girl that's wit'cha! I can talk about it cuz I know that I'm pretty! And if you know it too, then ladies sing it with meeee!" This was great. Kal wasn't quite sure at first if leaving home was a good idea; she would miss her father. She would miss cracking lame jokes with him, nearly burning the house down while trying to bake like those professionals on Food Network, laughing in semi-guilt at horrendous fanfictions that they randomly pointed out online of shows they loved to watched--she was gonna miss all of it dearly. Of course, Kal would call her Daddy every single freaking day.

No doubt about that.

"All eyes on me when I walk in! No question that this girl's a ten! Don't hate me 'cause I'm beautifuuul! Don't hate me 'cause I'm beautiful!" Kal wasn't exactly one to call herself beautiful. Not by a long shot. She always associated the term with something bias and unfortunately shallow. Nothing more than desires for the impossible. Perception is imperfect. So beautiful was not concrete, at least, not on surface level. No. She'd rather see herself as...Kal. Just Kal.

"My walk, my talk, the way I dress! It's not my fault so please don't...trip? The hell?" Kal trailed off in confusion, completely forgetting about the song. A bus parked on the side of the road came into view, along with some random red-head dude storming off in a fit of yells and stomping. "Ah, shit...I know he's not walking out here in this heat," she mumbled to herself in disbelief. The bus pulled off quickly, leaving the man lonely and on foot.

Kal's fingers drummed on the wheel. She nodded to herself. "Yep. Yep, I'm doing it. Yep." Her Kia slowed to a stop next to the man, who also halted and glanced over skeptically. The window rolled down slowly to reveal Kal's signature sunny smile. "Yo, yo, yooo! You need a lift, man?"

The man glared at her, which prompted a raised eyebrow. He scoffed and started walking again. "I don't need it, thanks," he grumbled. Kal's eyes narrowed, though she was doing everything in her damn power not to laugh. Why the hell was he riding on such a high horse? The temperature was a bitch today! Her car crept along, matching pace with him.

"Dude, it's like..." She checked the screen on her dashboard. "Holy fuck! 96! Did you hear that?! A whole thirty times three plus six degrees--in Fahrenheit!"

"I know how temperature bloody works!" he growled.

Kal blew a raspberry. "Listen man, at this rate, your whole body's gonna be as red as that pepper head of yours--" The man twitched. "And you gonna have a whole heat stroke before you get within ten feet of Tophet. That's where you're heading, ain't it? Well lemme help you out!"

He didn't respond. The most Kal got out of him was a grimace and a huff. Oh, and faster walking, which she easily kept up with. This match of will ensued for a few awkward moments until he submitted with an agitated curse and stomped up to the car. He glared at Kal through the window opening. "Fine--fine! I'll get in! Just stop bloody stalking me you crazy wen--!"

Kal pushed the door open with a jovial smile, not even batting an eyelash as it came inches away from whacking her new passenger in the face. "Then come on in~!" Her voice was booming, trying to speak over the music blasting from the speakers. The traveler grumbled some more and got in, slamming the door shut pointedly. His suitcase rested in the backseat. It took a minute or so of driving before Kal thought to ask his name. She turned down the music significantly, though she still bobbed and bounced to the beat, and asked, "So what's ya name, Stranger? I'm Kal, by the way!"

She held out a hand to shake, eyes still on the road. The man eyeballed her hand in blatant disgust and ignored the gesture. He crossed his arms and mumbled, "Reggie."

"Okay, cool. We're not big on touching, I get that," Kal said while dropping her hand. "Nice to meet ya, Reg! Oh, hey! Reg the Red Head! Ain't that some shit??" She cackled at her spontaneous joke, glancing over at her new acquaintance...

Reggie looked unimpressed. "Brilliant."

Kal shrugged. "Everybody's a little bit brilliant, ya know? No biggie." She brushed off her own shoulder and grinned. As they pulled into Tophet, Kal couldn't help but sigh and take in the town with wonder. Images suddenly blossomed through her head, aged photographs of her childhood flashing before her eyes and matching up almost disturbingly with the present. This was it...This was really, truly it. Her old home. "Man this is so fucking trippy," she whispered. She realized that Reggie was also out of it, staring out the window with a forlorn and distant expression, as if his mind was elsewhere.

Just as Kal was about to drop another terrible joke, the next song filtered into her ears...

And she screamed, "FUCK YES THIS IS MY ALL TIME JAAAAAAM!"

"Bloody hell!" Reggie plugged his poor abused ear and scowled. "The fuck are you screaming about--"

Kal turned up the music again. "Come on, Reg the Red! Sing with me! You know this??" Judging by Reggie's expression, he did not and would never sing along even if he did. He sighed heavily while dragging a hand down his face.

"Would you just...take me to the bloody address already..."

Kal started singing again.

Reggie groaned.

 

[KatSea]

Poppy Saint-Clair




"Poppy...Poppy...wake up. You overslept again...you told me you'd give me one last goodbye before I left ~" A gentle coo greeted Poppy from her restful slumber, gentle arms wrapped around her waist, as a nuzzle was administered to her wild mane of hair. "I have to go Pops...Classes are calling me home ~ " Poppy's head craned to the other side of the bed, where her good friend and sister by the blood formed by choice, curled into her frame. Dorothea, rather, Dot, had insisted she would reside with Poppy until it was comfortable enough for her to be on her own. And as long as Dot's research project on media and representation within criminal cases. Poppy was beyond surprised at Dot's desire to study such a topic, particularly when it was in Poppy's field of interest. Yet, Dot had been fascinated by sentence terms and jury behavior when it came to races, sexes, and most importantly to Dot, social class. Dot had no strong opinion upon the actual accusation of bias, she had more fascination with statistics, and of course, very specific cases that were outliers. Particularly, media outlooks on particular cases that changed immediately depending on who was committing the crime. Whether it be murder, assault, or what interested Dot most of all, sexually motivated crimes committed by females. Poppy was disgusted yet fascinated by Dot's interest, and had no idea how this came to be. Poppy used to tease her that what Dot studied she would become, but when this occurred, the teasing stopped. Cases revolving around such topics disgusted Poppy. She preferred to not dwell upon such cases, but would solve them if need be. It was in her mind that if someone asked her to find such a brutal criminal, she'd lie in wait, hunting for as long as she was able to. But dwelling upon cases that had the opportunity to be solved and were not? Beyond unbearable.

"Why can't you stay longer Dot?" Poppy slurred as she rolled over and embraced her friend tightly, groaning into the pink fabric shielding her shoulder. "You can study here you know. There are good cases that have happened here..." Dot's form shuffled next to Poppy's briefly as she pulled the cover's back over Poppy. "Besides, you give good morning cuddles. The best, actually."

"I have to go Pops. You know this place has been giving me the creeps." Dot's light, green eyes peered into Poppy's and before she knew it, a squeal emitted from her as Poppy rolled on top of her. "Poppy no! Bad! Get off me you lug!" Dot desperately attempted to push her off, causing laughter to cascade from Poppy's lips. Poppy eventually relented and rolled off, a puff escaping her.

"I don't want you to leave me Dottie. Not when I've got the old Saint-Clair office set back up." Poppy gestured lazily with her thumb to the room adjacent to their bedroom, a main living space with a desk, two leather chairs, and most importantly, old case files and newspaper articles relating to the disappearance and deaths of the Diablo children. Supposed deaths, at the very least. "Besides, whether you like it or not, Tophet doesn't have a bad set of records...At least, not from what I've managed to scour. It's pretty good. There aren't many trial cases in this damned town but...Concord ain't too far..." Against Poppy's protest, Dot rose from the bed and began to pull on her coat. Poppy knew very well that a simple drive to Mass did not have the usual attire requirements for Dot. She was going in her Batman leggings and a reliable, fourteen year old Invader Zim tank top. Poppy thought that it was the most beautiful choice of attire, but she knew that a twenty two year old college student with deep bags underneath her eyes and a coffee cup accompanied by a middle finger splayed against the paper cup was not going to be portrayed as beautiful.

"Poppy, my love." A wiggle travelled from one brow to the next, before a frown bestowed itself upon Dot's tired lips. "I need to go. You and I both know this. But...that doesn't mean I want be back. I will visit so much you will begin to get sick of me. But for now..." She sighed, her shoulders slumping with exhaustion. "This is your journey. Mine lies elsewhere for now. But, that doesn't mean I don't love you any less, Pops." Dot's lingering glance sent a pit into Poppy's stomach. With a deeply etched frown, Poppy hopped from the bed and immediately tackled her friend in a final embrace.

"I don't want to be here alone for too long. You know that."

"You won't be alone, Pops. You have the Saint-Clairs." Dot soothed, lacing and straightening Poppy's hair out gently. "I am sure they would be more than happy to see you." Poppy's body shuddered at her words, her flesh bubbling with anxiety. She did not want to have to face them. Not now. As far as she wanted was for the name to be restored. That didn't mean she wanted to have to face them after all these years.

"Y-yeah. I am sure." Poppy swallowed and closed her eyes as Dot pressed a brief kiss to her temple. Her body relaxed with bliss for her friendship and she slumped into Dot tiredly, her head residing at her shoulder. "I love you Dottie."

"I love you too, Poppy." Dot let go, brushing stray lock away from Poppy's face. "Give me one more smile before I go. Please." Poppy grumbled her complaints before breaking out into a grin. Dot chuckled and bobbed her head in her gratification. "Thank you, my little flower. Stay safe. Don't get serial murdered. And most importantly. Stay sexy." Dot grinned before skipping cheerily out into the open, leaving a confused and lonely Poppy within her bed room.

"I guess I should do what I said I would do. Talk to the Killgans." Poppy shuddered. From what she recalled about the remaining Killgans, they weren't pleasant. Isaiah though...Poppy figured could sway him. She would just need to make her way there. Throwing over a sweatshirt over her tank and shoving on some cheap, plastic flip flops, Poppy traversed out into the open. She grinned at the sea breeze. Despite having been here only two days, Poppy found blending back into the scene was none too difficult. "Hello world! Get your ass in gear, because Poppy Saint-Clair is about to give you one big ass hug!" She exclaimed to no one, cheerily making her way out to the nearly empty street. Beautiful here today. As usual.

Poppy didn't trust the outside look. The sunshine was merely there to blind those who were foolish enough to assume that this town was innocent. She knew better.


-------

Isaiah Killigan




Isaiah reclined as the press finished its work, and a stack of newspaper lay alluringly upon his maple desk. His thumb traced the fresh paper, a peaceful inhale entering his system as he handed it off to one of his assistants, a fifteen year old boy who enjoyed the little dollar bills Isaiah would slip into the papers for him to find. Isaiah, despite having been rough with the boy at first, found to appreciate his time and efforts, and even began to build affection for him. This time Isaiah had slipped a twenty dollar bill into the stack, knowing very well he would find it.

"Feels like a light load today, Izzy." The young boy commented, a New England accent rolling off his tongue effortlessly. "You didn't write too much did you? Or did you just not feel like printing today?" Isaiah's head craned to watch the boy examine the packet of papers, a wolfish grin consuming the boys features as he caught sight of Isaiah's gift. "Thanks Izzy. You are a real charity worker." The boy pocketed the bill into his front jean pocket, big brown eyes inspecting Isaiah. "You look tired...well, tireder I should say. Everything good in that thick skull of yours?" Isaiah allowed a chuckle to shake his entire body, raising the back of his hands to his lips to hide the smile threatening to show through.

"All I had to say is on there, Dam. Don't you worry too much about it. I didn't sleep well, to be honest. And I had to rewrite that section over three times." Isaiah admitted to the boy, who now cradled the papers to his chest as if it was his own child. "It's a little light. You can get a lot of information online these days, and as much as I hate to do it, I might need to switch over." His face scrunched in a grimace. He hated the idea of going digital. He found that the authentic pleasure from reading came from a story with a physical touch. Something about getting from one end to the other satisfied Isaiah. Digital infuriated him. It did not feel as real.

"You miss her don't ya? I can feel it." The boy commented lightly, empathy radiating off of him. "She's in a better place ya know, well depending on your belief system. But I am sure she is still watching over ya, no matter the belief." The boy grinned, crooked teeth reminding Isaiah affectionately of a rat. "Now, don't be too down today. Ya promised me to help me edit that short story collection I was working on."

"I am not down Dam." Isaiah claimed with a light smile and stood, towering over the boy by a near foot. "Just weary. You can expect me to be available for this afternoon. I promise. Just make sure you get those papers out, alright sport?"Despite himself, Isaiah rose his hand over the boy's hair and ruffled it. "Don't you worry too much. Get out there. Raise hell. Make me proud." Isaiah smirked now as the boy grimaced, brushing his stray locks back before merrily making his way to the exit. "Good child." Isaiah mused as he slumped back into his leather recliner, holding his head in his hands. He never truly wanted to admit to the poor boy that Isaiah missed his sister dearly, and that the memorial was something he dreaded. He did not want to reveal the sorrow of his heart, and would rather regret his life alone in his own room, on his own terms.

"Oye! Isaiah you got one pretty lady here for ya," Isaiah's head popped up in surprise as his glance whipped to where the paper boy was directing. Sure enough, a woman with bright, red hair masking her demeanor strolled through the door with confidence and an odd, aura? Isaiah could not identify it. But something concerned Isaiah the moment he saw this stranger. She was clearly not from around here, "Have a good time ~" The boy cooed before scurrying out, leaving the woman with Isaiah at the end of the hall. Surely enough, the dog curled at Isaiah's feet began to bark, rushing to the woman. She gingerly picked the small dog up, cradling the now mellow creature within her arms. Isaiah's brow furrowed. Thea was never that calm for any visitor, except maybe Dam.

"Can I help you? You lost or something?" Isaiah inquired, to which the woman merely laughed, scratching the ears of the dog, causing the hound's back legs to erratically swing about with satisfaction. "Look, there's an out look for visitors in case..."




"I know exactly where I am mister Killigan. I have actually come to talk with you about something." A smile grew at the odd woman's lips and she puffed out her cheeks. "My...this certainly is a nice residence. Something I should suspect from the Killigans...and yet..." Her eyes glazed over with recollection and she pursed her lips in thought. "I imagined it would be bigger."

"Can I help you then?" Isaiah inquired irritably, his brow raised in lack of interest.

"Yes, actually. Do you still have records on the Diablo case?" The woman asked without a care in the word, suddenly becoming distracted as Thea licked the sleeve of her sweatshirt. "What a good girl..."

"I am sorry...what?" Isaiah questioned her again, suddenly agitated. What was this strange woman doing by asking him of such a thing? Of course he had newspapers from back then, and from the nineties too. He made sure to have a copy of each publication neatly kept, safe from the decay that time brought. "Why would you...Look if...if you are purposely here to hurt me, then I suggest you get out." Isaiah's eyes narrowed. He forgot how tender this subject was, even as he spent the morning editing and reediting as his heart was threatening to shatter.

"Why would I come in flip flops, a Harvard sweatshirt, and almost booty shorts to come and hurt you?" Her head tilted as Thea's face rose to greet hers, now gently licking at her face "Oh, you are too gross." She cooed before returning her attention to Isaiah. "My name is Poppy Saint-Clair. I figure you..."

"I'm sorry, what?" Isaiah's brow knitted in disbelief. His entire face scrunched up in disgust "You mean to tell me that you are the missing, presumed dead...Poppy Saint-Clair? Of the disgraced Saint-Clairs."

"Ya." Poppy commented casually with a smile, kissing the dog's head "That's me!" She exclaimed joyfully with a laugh, a near cackle. "I can prove it too." Taking one hand, Poppy reached behind to her back pocket and pulled out the paper doll that was neatly folded. She flickered it open and bestowed the pattern to Isaiah, eyes glinting with near mischief. "Do you remember the dolls that he took from us? Well...he gave us the dolls too. I need to research to see if any of the other kids are still alive..."

Isaiah's face remained blank. Surprise overtook him as this absolute stranger stood before him, claiming to be Poppy Saint-Clair. She had the doll...the doll that his parents explained was Diablo's trophy. This...this couldn't be possible. Yet...not a lot of people actually knew this. But here she was, with the doll. His mouth gaped open and for once, Isaiah Killigan was speechless.

"Aw. You are just as cute as I remember. A little more shellshocked, though." Poppy teased, taking a step towards Isaiah. "So what do you say? Let me look at the records? Or at least the papers that were written. It will be a good start on the children."

"To your left." Isaiah nearly squealed, his thumb directing Poppy to the living room beside his study "Bottom drawer should contain papers from the year 1999 to 2003. Go crazy." He squeaked out, eyes widen in pain as the joyous woman skipped into the next room. What the hell did he just wake up to?

 

[Elle Joyner]

GINNY​

The motel room smelled like greasy chips and teenage boys. It was starting to feel like an all too familiar bouquet, and lying there, staring up into the darkness, at the peeling popcorn ceiling, Ginny half-wondered if motel managers bought it as a room spray in bulk. Beside her, his grunts less appealing now that he was sacked out and drooling into the dingy grey pillowcase, Nick snorted and rolled over and gripping the sheets closer to her chest, Ginny sighed. This was the life. Dignity circling the drain in Hitchcock monochrome, while she did her best not to smother the idiot drifter with a bad case of Whiskey Limp. In the morning, because despite her flaws she wasn't a completely heinous person, she'd tell him it was an amazing night and that she was so sorry she had to leave him... She'd promise to call or write, then conveniently forget her number, and in a few hours he'd move on and forget her name (if he hadn't already).

She could've left - really, it wouldn't have been the first time she ducked out with a note and a few bucks on the nightstand for the room bill. But the truth was, Ginny was in no hurry to leave. The world was mixed up and crazy, and she was headed right into the center of it all. The longer she stayed in that crap motel room, the longer she could stave off the six hour bus ride into Hell.

In the nightstand drawer, she had stashed the small collection of belongings she'd brought with her, and among them, the ragged doll that had somehow found its way back to her. No less than three times, she'd considered burning the damn thing, but something held her back. Something always did. The note that had come with it was etched into her mind - 'Time to go Home, Little G' -

"...Bastard." She whispered, with a small shiver.

Flopping onto his back, Nick snorted again.

GRANT​

Tophet...

Not exactly home sweet home. In truth, Grant was rather surprised to find the memories that came to life as the cab rolled past the sign at the town's entrance. Like a buoy untied at the bottom of a murky lake, repressed recollections flooded in all at once, and, not for the first time since leaving Baltimore, did he feel a sense of regret.

Palms damp with sweat, he brushed them against the legs of his jeans and peeled his eyes from the buildings streaming by, looking instead to his driver. Palanti Patel had quite the life story - nothing that would quite fit into the eerie, disturbing stock that was Tophet - but the man had been through a lot.

"Remember... You have my number. You need anything, just give me a call." Grant offered, ignorant to the slight quiver in his voice, "And take care of yourself, yeah?"

"You're very kind, my friend. You take care as well. Coming home is, I think, not so comforting for you?"

Chuckling, fingers arcing through his hair, Grant shook his head, "Not exactly, no. Here's good. I'd like to walk the rest of the way."

When he'd slid out and handed over payment, alongside a hefty tip that Palanti had tried to refuse, he heaved his bag from the trunk and after watching the cab make a U-turn down Calvary Avenue, Grant returned his focus to the town. At 4 AM, Tophet was still mostly asleep. Sodium vapor street lamps bathed everything in a dull orange haze, their erratic buzzing accompanied only by the crunch of the cab's tires as it returned the way it had come. Sixteen years ago, the traditional candle-posts had finally been replaced by the lamps, a bit of old world charm sacrificed to functionality. In light of all that had happened there, it was hardly Tophet's greatest crime, but it certainly wasn't part of its appeal, either. Idly, Grant wondered what else had changed since he'd been gone...

The skittering of aluminum against concrete yanked Grant from his reverie and he twisted to the alley on his right to see two figures staggering off in the opposite direction, along Black Rose Avenue. Tugging up the hood of his sweatshirt, his shoulders folded in a shrug before he continued up the street, towards the Residence Inn.

HOLLY​

June 21st. Twenty-eight days and counting.

Blinking bleary eyes, Holly stared at the calendar on the fridge with an uneasy, bubbling weight of contempt. It was a strange feeling, hating an inanimate object so much, but she'd grown oddly accustomed to translating her emotional backlash away from the people who deserved it, and onto those things that didn't. Her gaze jolted to the clock on the microwave - 6 AM. In about an hour, she'd open the shop and fill her day with mindless work - the subtle catharsis of mechanical tinkering. Today of all days, she needed it.

In just a few days time, their sleep town would become a tourist trap, and their tragedies would be put on full display as voyeurs came from all over to take advantage of their pain and strife, to make light of the atrocities that Tophet held. Popcorn and half-priced sodas and a trip down memory lane in the burning city of Hell.

The best part was Poppy would've found it all so amusing. She had always been vivacious. A bright spark in an ugly world, and she would've been tickled by the idea of turning Tophet's drama into a stage production. And maybe it wasn't the worst idea? Maybe it was better, selling tickets to their nightmare, instead of covering it up and pretending none of it happened.

Maybe someday, she'd open the shop as part of the murder walk… and Charlie could be memorialized with the others.

Turning away from the kitchen, she tugged her hair back into a bun and tucking a loose blonde curl behind her ear, breathed in deeply, eyes falling shut.

"One day at a time, Hol…" his cool, collected voice echoed in her mind, and opening. Her eyes again and with a determined nod, she stepped out into the stairwell that led down to the shop.

GINNY​

The bus slowed, and Ginny's eyes opened at the protest of the screeching brakes. In the early light of morning, Tophet looked exactly like she'd left it, and it made her stomach twist into a knot. She didn't want to be here. Not now, not ever… but the note had found her in the middle of nowhere, and if whoever sent it could get to her there, they could get to her anywhere.

A shiver tracked her spine as she looked up at the sign that stretched across the road reading 'Tophet's Summer of Love'... If there was any town on earth more full of it, she'd yet to come across it. Tophet was to love as volcanic eruptions were to real estate gold mines.

"Hell…" she groaned, crossing the street, "Here we go."

GRANT​

Morning dawned bright and clear, and blinking open his eyes, Grant took it all in with what felt like a sense of foreboding. Memories echoed in his head like… which pounding with the strain of stress. Whatever sense of duty or curiousity or momentary insanitary had driven him back to Tophet, the feelings had morphed over the last several hours and now he was left with a strange note of panic.

But he was there. He was there, and it made no sense to turn back now. Somehow it felt like fate, returning on a week when the town would be something of a spectacle. In truth, though, all Grant wanted was to go home. To see his parents, settle back in and let the past go.

"Yeah. Right…" He muttered to himself, rolling his eyes, before rolling out of bed.

 

[Mobley Eats]

Garfield

Gar stood at Tophet's town entrance. Content smile on his face and Delilah perched comfortably on his shoulder. His little girl squeaked whenever a car passed by, signaling Gar to jam a thumbs up at passerby with a toothy smile. A welcoming to the town of Hell. Here's to hoping none of them burned and rotted before the sun set next week! A blue Sedan rolled by, cuing the man to cup both hands around his mouth and yell out, "Shout hallelujahhhh! Uncle's dirt is laughing with us!"

He could've sworn he caught sight of the driver staring at him oddly, but Gar didn't care enough to confirm.

So many new faces. So many new names...So much drama and dirty laundry to unfold. The man reached inside his coat, feeling the chipped teacup resting snuggly against his side. Soon. He wondered what these new people would bring? That one lad who came early this morning seemed skittish, but potentially fun. And he was jumpy. Good fuel for entertainment. Ooooh--the screaming redhead and singing woman looked like a riot too. Soul Kia. Music blaring so aggressively that the vehicle shook.

Grinning, he reached up to scratch Delilah's head affectionately while cooing, "Hey there, pretty girl. The saints bells are splitting in threes until infinity. Let's rock and roll downhill."

It was safe to say that the homeless lunatic was excited.

 

[Mobley Eats]

Kahlila "Kal" Frambrosia Johnson | Location: Black Rose Pub| Interactions: Reggie

This dude was one hell of a grouch.

Convincing Reggie to unwind a little and jam along with Kal was the equivalent of pulling teeth--minus the anesthesia. She couldn't fathom why such a bitter storm cloud hung over his head, but she sure as hell was determined to brighten the skies dammit! Besides, it was beyond entertaining watching him grumble and groan at her attempts. Kal could see herself being friends with this sour puss, after he passed initiation, of course.

Music still blaring through the speakers, Kal yelled with a laugh, "Oh come on, Red! You tryna tell me that you don't know a single song on this station??" Her smile widened at the sight of his eyes practically rolling into the back of his skull. Massaging a temple, the red head shot her a withering glare.

"That's what I bloody said, isn't it?" The venom in his tone was impossible to miss. Oh yeah, Kal caught it for sure, which was wonderful. God did she love a challenge!

She hummed thoughtfully while stroking an imaginary beard. "I seeee...interesting. Okay. I think I've got a solution." Reggie's eyebrow arched, but nothing else about his visage gave his thoughts away. Kal took the look as a go-ahead and continued with one finger raised, "You're obviously dying to get to this uh..." Her brow furrowed. "Where're you heading again--"

"The fucking Black Rose Pub..." Reggie drawled tiredly. Dear Lord--he didn't know how much longer he could stand being held hostage by this wackjob.

"Right, right. Got'cha. So anyways, you're totally itching to get there and I get that. We've all got shit to handle; we're a busy generation, yeah?"

Reggie deadpanned at Kal.

"Exactly," she bounced back, "So I'll get you to the ole dark flower thinga-majig as soon as you belt some tunes with me!" She beamed at him. "Simple like one, two, three!" Perhaps--just maybe--she was cheesing so hard that her squinted eyes failed to absorb Reggie's pale and shell-shocked expression. His...his brain was struggling to function at the moment. He swept back stray strands and cleared his throat.

"You...are out of your fucking mind," he rasped, "Are you telling me that I'm stuck in this damn car until I sing with you?" The end of his sentence cracked with an underlying hint of disbelief. And fear. Just a wee fraction of it. Nonetheless, Kal nudged him gently with a smile.

"Don't make that face, Red! I'm just tryna get you to loosen up, yeah? So what of it? You down or not?" She tore her gaze from the road long enough to pin him down with an innocent look, batting eyelashes and proverbial halo to boot. Reggie battled it with a scowl of his own, features tight as he attempted to endure her wicked methods. No. He would not--never, ever, in his entire fucking life--succumb to Kal's lunatic wishes. Over his dead body!

Kal made an excitable sound while pointing out an ice cream shop. "Oooo~! Some Cookie Dough ice cream sounds like heaven in this heat right about now! Since you're still thinking, we can totally grab some real quick--"

"Please don't," Reggie pleaded. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. Hesitance clenched at his stomach for a solid five seconds before he finally caved. Voice low, he muttered, "I'll...I'll do it--but only a little! You hear me? After that, I'm out of here--"

"Awesooooome~," Kal turned up the volume even more, which was something Reggie didn't think was possible, "Now I know you gotta know this one, Red!" Reggie was about to deny this, but her mouth clammed shut in pleasant surprise. Indeed, he actually did know this one. Hell, it would be ridiculous if he didn't. Promiscuous was a classic, after all. He answered with a reluctant nod, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. Kal's eyes lit up. "Jackpoooooot," she cheered.

Although the song traditionally started with dialogue, the radio version added an extra loop of the beat in the beginning. As soon as the catchy bass started up, Reggie immediately wanted to crawl into a hole. Kal's mischievous glances and dancing about in her seat didn't help. However, the poor ginger had no chances of backing out and Fergie's line came in. "Am I throwing you off?" Kal echoed cheekily.

When Reggie spoke, his voice was low and awkward, much unlike the smooth casualness of Nelly's. "N-nope."

"Didn't think so," his kidnapper replied.

Reggie had to jump into the opening verse quickly, trying his best to catch up with Nelly's lyrics. "How ya doing young lady. The feeling that you gave me really drives me crazy." He risked a glance at Kal, whose head bobbed with the beat as she smiled at him encouragingly. He decided to ignore it and press through the absolute embarrassment swallowing him whole. "You don't have a player on your trunk. I was at a loss of words first time that we spoke--"

"If you're looking for a girl that'll treat you right. If you looking for her in the day time in the light," Kal cut in for Fergie.

"You might be the type if I play my cards right. I'll find out by the end of the night."

"You expect me just to let you hit it, but will you still respect me if you get it?" She ended her part with a playful wink his way. Reggie rolled his eyes but attempted to play the role. He hated every fucking second of this, but he was a performer and--above all else--an over-achiever. If he had to do this, he would blow it out of the fucking water.

He adopted more bass into his voice to emulate Nelly better. "All I can do is try, give me one chance. What's the problem? I don't see no ring on your hand~." Just a hint of sass colored his tone while gesturing to Kal's barren ringer finger. She laughed, loud and without restraint. The sound almost--almost--made a smirk pull at his visage. It was nice to know he still had that flare. "I'll be the first to admit. I'm curious about you, you seem so innocent." He skimmed Kal up and down with a skeptical eyebrow.

Kal flipped her hair in a dramatic show of offense before firing back, "You wanna get in my world, get lost in it. Boy I'm tired of running, let's walk for a minute."

This was it. Reggie drew from his years of vocal lessons, from the required classes at NYU that drilled his poor diaphragm to the grave and back, and sang the chorus in a smooth baritone, "Promiscuous girl. Wherever you are, I'm alone and it's you that I want!" He definitely added his own twist to the vocals, giving it more flavor than the radio was provided. It was safe to say that Kal was impressed, if her slackened jaw and obtuse gaping was anything to go by. She had almost missed her turn, but snapped out of his long enough to mirror Reggie's smirk.

"Promiscuous boy! You already know that I'm all yours. What you waiting for?" Kal rolled her neck teasingly, as if challenging Reggie. Oh...Oh, it was on! Without missing a beat, the pair had jumped head first into a literal car karaoke battle, though one saw it more as a party. The other was just competitive as holy hell without realizing it sometimes. They belted the entire song without pause, only calming down as the beat took a handful of seconds to fade into silence.

"Holy fuck that was fun!" Kal gushed while bouncing in her seat.

"If you call getting your ass whooped fun, then go nuts," Reggie panted, his freckled face red from the exertion. He hadn't let loose like that in ages! It honestly felt...good...Oh. Wait.

This was wrong.

In an instant, his features hardened back into his signature scowl, which threw Kal off for a second. She wanted to ask what the hell got into him, but he had stretched over the dashboard to point out his destination. The Black Rose Pub. "This is my stop. Ready to set me free yet?" The biting sarcasm made a comeback. Kal tilted her head like a confused people. She momentarily wondered if the man suffered from bipolar disorder or something...but decided not to push. She had her fill of fun with him today and he had technically fulfilled his end of the deal. She shrugged and pulled over.

"Yep! You're good to go, Red."

Grumbling, Reg scrambled out of the car and retrieved his suitcase, only now realizing that it would be odd to bring it inside of a pub...fuck it. He couldn't bring himself to care. However, before he could turn to enter, Kal's voice traveled from the Kia. "Hey Red!" Jaw clenched, Reggie slowly looked her way. She beamed. "That was bomb as hell! You ever need anything, I'm ya gurl to ring up, you got me! Just ask for my name and I'll pop up!"

Reggie...didn't know what to say. He just openly stared at the woman like she had grown a second head. Unperturbed, Kal threw a salute his way and sped off.

Once again, Reggie was left alone. Baffled.

 

[KatSea]

Monday Goodman




Monday's fingers grasped around her friend's cross, hung upon her neck with guilt and sin weighing it down to her chest. She stared at it for a good while, pressing a kiss to it tenderly as her eyes closed and her fate became clear. She had made it, after a near hour of driving with a complete and utter stranger. She made her end of the bargain, fifty dollars tucked gingerly away in her tank top. She always used to joke that hitch hikers and serial killers went along like peanut butter and jelly, but she found desperation clawed at her stomach. Monday didn't have a car. She didn't have any more money besides a ten hidden in her shoe. It had taken her nearly a week of trickery and mayhem to gain sixty dollars, and was relieved to see that fifty was enough for this scraggly driver. He had eyed her the entire time, from her face, to her chest, to the pocket knife she kept at her side. Had this greasy, small man tried anything, Monday knew what to do. It wasn't hard to jam a weapon into someone's throat. But she wouldn't know, she had only ever seen that sort of thing on television. An old acquaintance used to inform her of the simplicity of the human body before piercing her own skin, claiming it was affection and desire. She knew the difference before he had laid his hands upon her, but she did not mind. Numbness invaded her long before her only lifeline was cut.

"Thank you sir. This is it." Monday informed the gentleman and retrieved his reward. His grubby hands snatched the parchment from her hands before she had a chance to argue. His dull, grey eyes inspected her once more as her fingers glided to the knife. "You try anything and I'll make sure no one finds the car or yourself, sir." Monday's parched lips pulled into a smile as the man seemed to retract his desire, and with a satisfied grunt Monday pried open the rusty old car door. "I hope you make it to your destination alright." Monday swiftly flew from the musty car, landing on her heels with the grace of a drunken wildcat. She regained her balance, and before she could process the moment, the man closed the car door and accelerated back to the main road. Monday's face squished into a grimace and she merely shrugged the travel off her shoulders. He was a quiet one any how. Nothing memorable about him for her to dwell upon. "Okay...now that is done...I just need to remember where I am going." Her eyes fluttered closed as she attempted to recall the address of Mrs Goodman herself. Monday refused to consider her as a mother in this moment and merely grumbled to herself at the thought of greeting her. "She doesn't deserve this...she doesn't deserve this." Anger began to bubble at her flesh as the thought repeatedly split in her head, smashing itself against her skull over, and over again. "I promised I would reconcile, I just had to promise." She grumbled, her eyes flickering down the desolate road that lead to Tophet.

It reminded her of the other cities she had been in New England. Home was no different than every other tourist trap, and this caused rage within her still. How could this town still be so beautiful, so lively, and yet be the same as everywhere else? How could this little piece of mirroring heaven have had hell reaped upon it? These questions infuriated her. She knew one thing, and it was that Mrs Goodman and Tophet ruined her whole damn life. She clenched her fists until they shaded into white and eventually let go as her chipped nails were digging into her skin. She glanced down at the little crescents decorating her skin. "Disgusting beautiful huh?" Her step was cut short by the sight of...

"A ferret?" Monday's furrow burrowed as a homely man stood at the gate of the town, her hand reaching for the grip of her knife.

I just wanted to find her for goodness sake. Noooo. I have to possibly not get mugged. I hate people. I hate myself. I hate her. I hate every goddamn thing.

She quickened her pace every so slightly, but nodded her regards towards the adorable ferret.

You are the only thing I can find love for in the world, little furry sweetheart. Just don't have rabies and I won't change my mind.

 

[Mobley Eats]

Garfield | Interactions: Monday

Gar was now sitting down in the dirt, legs crossed and tea cup poised over his head. No change bothered to land in it yet, but that didn't daunt him in the least. In fact, it amused him, interested him. So many people were entering Tophet today and yet not a single penny was tossed his way. Was pity dead? Surprising--pity was nothing more than a gentle reminder to one's superiority over another. A hallmark card that silently spoke, "You poor thing; your circumstance is so much worse than mine. Thank goodness I'm not like that". Wasn't it quaint to see how the minds of a generation and groups and cliques and victims and innocents and criminals and ill and wealthy changed with a shift of the wind? Fickle. Humans were so dang fickle.

Like him. It was great.

Gar snapped back to reality to see a young woman entering Tophet on foot. He could tell that Delilah caught her attention, which wasn't hard to believe. His pretty girl was the cutest rodent in animal kingdom history; it'd be impossible to resist her. The homeless man waved his cup at the woman, a cheesy grin just barely peeking through the mess of hair and grime. "Spare change! Spare change!" His eyes twinkled with mischief. "Two pennies per Delilah pat! Deals abundance! Real cheap cheap cheap in Tophet Hell."

Yes, he was aware that he was basically selling Delilah's cuteness. He'd properly apologize to her afterwards. Besides, he just wanted to get a radar read on this new face.

 

[KatSea]

Leon Jethro Cyrus



Leon tugged his jacket over his shoulders as a brief shiver trickled down his spine. Despite the warmth of the small coastal tone, he found that everything today seemed...cold. Waking up, getting dressed for work, even choosing the color of his fedora, something within him trembled from the cold. He just couldn't detect why his body shook. He supposed it could have been the memorial. That his only childhood friend would be honored after fifteen years. Leon constantly would place himself in her place. The idea of a small child being abducted and murdered...It was a scene out of It. It would something that never should happen to a child. Something that should never happen to anyone.

Leon shuffled through his trench coat pockets and retrieved the bar keys, humming softly as he nodded his acknowledgments to the passerby that only made Leon slightly uncomfortable. He pushed himself against the main door and closed it safely behind him, strolling to the bar counter. "Looks like whoever closed did a crummy job." His eyes peeked down to notice that he could barely see his own reflection, and despite himself, he smiled. "That means I at least have more to do than the usual opening." He climbed behind the counter, throwing his apron over his clothing and adjusting his hat. "Always opening up....letting the day in ~" He sang under his breath with a hearty chuckle, beginning to clean the space around him. Excellent. It appeared everything was in order.

He dragged the soap drenched rag across the counter and hummed happily under his breath, noting that a few early scragglers were already making their way in. If there was anything knew, some of the townsfolk liked to kill their pain early. He always made sure that they had a cab home, and that they were not to go over a limit. He had already filled a mug for one customer, who he knew simply as quiet Lew. Lew did not tend to come in often, but when he did, he was good company. Lew always drank one draft beer, same brew, and would leave Leon a good tip for letting him drink so early in the morning. Lew tapped his fingers against the counter, having received his beer the moment he sat down.

"Ah, good morning to you Mister Cyrus."

"A good morning to you as well Lew. How's the family?" Leon leaned against the counter in his genuine interest, knowing the likelihood of getting any more customers in the early morning was going to be fairly low.

"Ah. Wife's good. Son's cranky. I don't tell the wife I come here for some peace and quiet. She just thinks I get some fresh air at the beach. Which I do. When I am walking back home." Lew winked at Leon and fell silent once more as he savored his drink in slow sips.

"Ah my man I understand. I do not blame you. A little beer never killed anyone."

"A lot of beer can." Lew raised his mug before drinking again "Which is why no one dies in here. You do a good job my friend."

"And you keep me employed." The men shared a friendly smile before Leon turned to clean the rest of the glasses. "The tourist rush is going to make this hell."

"Who wants to come to the valley of hell anyway? I guess it don't matter. People like the worst of places as long as there beaches around. Take that away and this would be a ghost town."

"Amen." Leon bowed his head as if accepting ancient scripture. Sometimes he wished it was true. That he didn't have to live in this place. That it could be a ghost town. Leon never wanted to admit it, but he hated this town with a burning, raw passion. One that he hid very well under the cool exterior.

 

[Mobley Eats]

Kahlila "Kal" Frambrosia Johnson | Location: Residence Inn Lobby | Interactions: Grant

Kal's music continued to blare and rattle her car like a mini-earthquake. She could've sworn she caught some dirty looks from pedestrians as she rolled through town, but she couldn't really bring herself to care. It was all good in the neighborhood--it wasn't as if she knew them personally. Now if it was a friend or something that hated her...yeesh. Not cool. Well, at least she made one friend already, although he was one hell of a grumpy cat sourpuss. "Mehhh, I like 'em though! Gotta love a soul with some fire," she chuckled to herself as her Kia pulled into the Residence Inn parking lot.

She slipped on her shades and grabbed her luggage from the trunk--which wasn't much at all. Two suitcases, one a roller and the other hiked over her shoulders, was more than enough to hold her possessions. Kal had a few minimalist approaches, especially to materialistic things, but she'd never push that onto someone else. In her wise words, "You do you and I'll do me and this shit will be a breeze like one, two, three!"

No. Really.

Kal was quick to check-in and pay for a room. She didn't plan on living in the hotel for long; she obviously had plans to see her...family. Yeesh. If that were the case, I'd be going home to Dad...but this is my, uh, original family, I guess. Still weird as hell to think about, Kal fought off a shiver. The thought of potentially replacing Bromy was sickening, but she needed to see her parents. It'd be inconsiderate and downright wrong to keep them in the dark about her being alive.

But still. It could wait. At least for a few hours so that she could rest her feet. Even this little of walking was a little exhausting; her foot was already adopting a dull ache. Easy to manage and ignore, but still there nagging at her nerves. She'd need rest for sure. And food, always food. Speaking of which, after Kal thoroughly thanked an employee for hauling her luggage up to her room, she spotted a dining area in the lobby, where breakfast was being served buffet style. Thank the heavens. It was time to get her grub on.

Kal wasn't ashamed to gather a heaping pile of bacon, nor the giant scoop of scrambled eggs. She loved her protein and helped out in the long run for her daily exercises. Her body needed all the strength it could get. As she scoped out for an empty seat, humming any random tune that came to mind under her breath, she spotted a young man in a booth by himself. Alone. With no one. Just himself...Alone.

Yep. I'm doing it.

"All by my see-e-eelf," she sang casually while strolling over to her next vict--potential friend. She plopped down opposite of him without even asking, her goofy smile as bright and over-bearing as ever. "Morning morning," she greeted before shooting out a hand, "Saw you chowing down alone and I thought, 'no way, that's totally illegal to have breakfast all on your lonesome', so I thought I'd share my company with you. Hope you don't mind? Oh!" The corner of her eyes crinkled. "It's Kal, by the way. You can call me whatever the though, like Kal the Pal or whatever. Up to you. Nice to meet you...?" she trailed off, waiting for the man to trade his name in response.

 

[Elle Joyner]

GINNY
​

"And Hallelujah." The voice echoed across the near empty pub, as Ginny strolled in, taking up residence on one of the stools. In truth, she could've used a shower and a good nap, but she's spent the last six hours riding next to an irritating nose whistler and a man with an unfortunate habit of staring at her better assets, and at the moment the only thing she cared about was a cold one, to take the edge off.

Eyes traveling the length of the bar, then the tender himself, Ginny smiled appreciatively. If the town of Tophet hadn't chnaged at all, she was pleased to see at least some of the views had improved...

"Nice sermon..." She waved her fingers in the direction of the other occupant, "I always like 'em short and sweet. Get to the point, right? Beating around the bush is a pain in the ass."

Leaning her elbows on the counter, a small feat for a girl of her small stature, she buckled forward just enough to emphasize she wasn't all twigs and bones, "So... What's the recommendation this time of day, TDH?"

 

[Mobley Eats]

Theona Rose Killigan | Location: Residence Inn to Killigan Press | Interactions: Isaiah

It was easy to forget the pain once relief became a myth.

That's all pain was, wasn't it? Just a reaction to the lost of comfort and normalcy. A defensive mechanism, an alarm system organically wired to the deepest sect of your soul and constructed with the most eloquent trigger nature could afford. Just a goddamned mode of desperation. That was the secret to survival after all. Swallow the pain. Accept it, completely and without a fight, but never savor. Just toss it back like a shot of Everclear and let your mind stray away from the burn sliding down your throat. The agony would numb in face of embracing it.

The grand golden rule. Theona had learned that one very early.

She could still hear the wild screeches, the splitting of her own skin against stone as blood smeared the hut's foundations, the booming in her ears and chest as oxygen sizzled within her lungs--she never remembered anything concrete. But God. The sensations, the sensations never faded. They were sensory imprints left upon her spirit like scar tissue. She couldn't escape it, no matter how many times she sped away on Fefe. Now matter how much rubber she burned. No matter how fast she tore through the streets. It never amounted to anything in the end.

Because she was now stuck. Caught in the web of her own doing, like the reckless child she had always been--

Crack!

"Shit!" she hissed while snatching her hand back. Beads of crimson rolled down her thumb along the crease of her palm. It stained the carpet before her, where three-fourths a glass laid in a bed of its own shards. Theona cradled her injury and rushed into the bathroom, which was crammed and unflattering--in both aesthetic and hygiene. She couldn't complain. The hotel charged cheap. She hissed as she allowed the cold water to turn a pale red and flow down the drain.

"Jesus fuck. Way to fucking go, Thee," she grumbled under her breath. She needed to put a cap on her impulses; sure, she had no issues starting a fight and leaving a few dents in someone else, but harming herself crossed the line. Plus, it wouldn't help her situation today if she waltzed into Killigan Press with a sloppily bandaged hand. Oh, no. Sure. It was totally fine. What would she say anyways? "Hey bro, it's me. You know, Theona? Your sister who you thought was dead but not really? Oh, what? This? Oh no this is just a scratch. Anyways, back to the impossible bullshit coming out of my mouth..."

Exactly. She was fucked.

However, even as Theona scoffed at her own thoughts, she couldn't ignore her financial pinch. From what she could remember before the kidnapping, her family was loaded. The research she did before arriving at Tophet confirmed that little suspicion. By no means was she expecting them to coddle her. Fuck that. She'd rather dislocate a toe. What caught her attention was the Killigan family business--the newspaper. It was by no means a passion, but Theona knew her way around a keyboard and the human language fairly well. So why the fuck not? She needed the money. This was her best bet. A reckless bet, but still her best.

She applied pressure to the cut with a semi-clean towel and huffed. Her grimy reflection pissed her off for so many illogical reasons and the mirrored, self-loathing smirk didn't help. "Time to knock 'em dead with the Kill-igan charm," she mumbled.

---

"Well goddamn..."

Theona never recalled the Killigan mansion being this huge. Did that thing grow while she was gone? Fefe pulled onto the property with a roaring purr, which pulled at the woman's lips with a smile. Man, she loved her bike so much. It was her baby. Nonetheless, no matter how powerful her child was, Fefe deserved a nap. Theona let down the kickstand and ripped off her helmet, shaking her chocolate hair loose from its sweaty confines. She sighed. This was it. It was do or die time. She couldn't turn back now; after procrastinating and holing herself up in that vomit-inducing hotel room for four days, she finally scraped up enough courage to face her past.

The first impression was grand, but the inside of Killigan Mansion was even grander. "Wonder how much this shit sells on E-Bay..." Theona mumbled under her breath as she passed a long row of paintings lining the wall to her left. All members of the Killigan family, she assumed, of all ages and shapes and sizes, yet all sharing that pompous blood. Well, it was her blood too, but that wasn't the point. The layout of the place wasn't terribly hard to navigate; she just followed a combination of her internal GPS, gut senses, and context clues. Soon enough, a pair of large double doors presented themselves...

Ajar.

Open.

...Well. Fuck it then. This place clearly had no taste for security, so who was she to question them? Slapping on a staid and indifferent mask, Theona marched into the office, her gaze scouring the area for his brother. All she needed was a face to match the Google image. Her age. Short asshole curled hair. Thousand-yard glint in the eyes. And a mug handsome enough to punch...

Oh. Oh yeah. There he was. Forgetting all forms of etiquette (not as if she was gonna use it to begin with), Theona raised her bandaged hand in a lazy greeting and said, "Uh, hey. Theona Killigan here. Heard you guys are family or something? Just here to land a job on the press and all that boring jazz. You guys open?"

She nailed this interview already, she just knew it.

That was sarcasm.

 

[Elle Joyner]

GRANT
​

Time was racing by faster than Grant could blink, and still, he found himself stalling. The notions were simple enough. A quick trip across town to the harbor... He still remembered the address. Knock. Wait for an answer. Ask for a moment...

It sounded so uncomplicated, and yet in his heart he knew it would never be so easy. Would they believe it was him? Would they be happy to see him? Put out? Would they be angry he's stayed away so long? Forgive him for never calling?

He'd paced in the entrance hall of the Inn long enough to make his feet hurt, before deciding breakfast sounded better. Then he'd filled a plate he wasn't going to eat, and instead, began to nurse an enormous cup of coffee, black... Praying it would give him the fortitude to go through with his plan.

Plans never go the way you want, though.

The minute he'd convinced himself to get up and get a move on, his solitude was suddenly and abraisively invaded, and looking like a buck naked man on the beach at the height of battle on of D-day, Grant sank back into the booth.

"I...oh. Um." Blinking, he stared at the woman for a moment, before a chuckle escaped, dry, but not humorless. Fate had a funny way about her, "Grant. And you're welcome to join me. Kal, was it? What brings you to Tophet?"

 

[KatSea]

Monday Goodman



Oh God. He is asking for money. Shit. What do I do? I only have ten dollars. In my fucking shoes. If he jumps me I will just jab this knife into his chest. It's fine. It's fine. It's...Oh fuck me. "Okay...fine. But if you do that goddamned thing where you ask for more after what I give you, I will not hesitate." Monday mumbled, leaning over and plucking off her heel from her foot. The ten single dollar bills fluttered from the inner depths, before she plucked them up in her hands. Her expression went blank. She remembered the last time something like this happened, and she ended up bruising her knuckles as she brushed(harshly) the man off. Monday had been in their position. Without a home. But, at the same time, she knew better. She was scared despite herself, but knew better than to stick around for long. She plucked a dollar into the hat, her eyes lazily inspecting the animal.

"She is mighty cute. What is her name?" Hesitantly, Monday brought her hand to the ferret and stroked the top of it's head, between the ears. You better not have rabies you cutie. "Also...I do assume you live here. If you do, do you know if the Goodman's are still living in that house by the water?" Her head tilted. She was curious. It had been quite some time since she had been home. For all she knew, her mother could be dead, or could indeed have moved somewhere else. But knowing Mrs Goodman, she would remain glued to the comfort of her home for as long as humanly possible. Monday's expression softened. "If so, it would be appreciated to let me know. I want to check in on the woman living there. I don't know how she is because, well, I haven't heard from her in a really long time and I just want to make sure she is okay."

Why do I care about this wench so much? Family is family, I guess. I can't just...do the dick move. I should at least take care of her. Once that is done, I should just leave. That's the smartest option but...where would I go from there?

Monday swallowed. She wouldn't worry herself with that for now. For all she knew, she just needed to hang tight and get through this day without a hitch. Her mother should be well and alive. If not, this gentleman would at least tell her before she put in the effort.

 

[Mobley Eats]

Kahlila "Kal" Frambrosia Johnson | Location: Residence Inn Lobby | Interactions: Grant

Kal dropped her hand, accepting the absence of a handshake. That was cool. At least she could confirm that people around Tophet weren't big on the gesture; she'd keep that bit of information on lock. She crossed both harms over the table, leaning forward a tad to grin at Grant. "Grant, huh? Dope name. You kinda give off the Grant vibe, like you'd make somebody's day the same way someone could win a grant or some shit." When Grant asked what brought her to Tophet, she shrugged and leaned back into the seat, munching absentmindedly on a strip of bacon.

"Meh, nothing too big. Had some wonky shit happen to me in a cave and thought I'd come back home to say hey to the fam. I imagine they'd want to see me after being gone for like...what? A decade at least? No, longer than that. Err." Her features pinched before waving the half-length strip of meat at Grant. "How long ago was that Diablo shiz again? I never really bothered to do the numbers, now that I think about it."

However, she shook her head, realizing that she was straying somewhat off topic. "Well, either way, the numbers don't matter. Just know I'm here for visiting and all that jazz. What about you, Grant my man? You're visiting too? Business trip?" A playful grin. "Presenting somebody with a big ole grant prize?"

 

[KatSea]

Leon Jethro Cyrus



"I am no preacher my good woman. I may be a man of the Lord, but I do not believe a good sermon man would serve alcohol at this early of an hour. That I believe is my mortal flaw, but it brings in money and food for the apartment. And time to do other, more fun things. Sleep deprivation is fun too." Leon turned to face the young woman, smiling down at her. "Are you sure you are old enough to be here miss? I'd like to see some ID. Luckily for you the drinking age here is eighteen, but I just need to be sure. You know how teenagers can be." While Leon waited, he retrieved the empty mug from Lew, who left a hefty tip at the counter before saluting the young man and lumbering out of the bar. Leon nodded his respect to the man and pocketed the appropriate amount of tips before returning the rest to the register.

"I do not usually recommend anything this early in the day miss. Although, I know drafts here are fairly popular. That and some cosmos people like too, although I think that is a far more evening treat. Hmm, I could do some Irish coffee for you. I know that wakes me up." His brow raised in curiosity as she referred to him as TDH. His head tilted in concern. "Miss is that code for something? I do not think I have ever heard such a...bizarre set of letters spoken. But that is far alright, I just don't always understand human language. So, I guess you are a tourist then? what brings you to Tophet? The drink options? Beach? Hotels? The damn murder walk?" Leon held nothing against Dinah Shapiro. The murder walk, however, was the exception. He felt his skin crawl at the mere thought of it.

 

[Elle Joyner]

"How long ago was that Diablo shiz again?"

As the words left her mouth, Grant's posture changed, and the color fled his cheeks. It wasn't possible. There were coincidences in life, but he'd never once come across any quite so outlandish... And that she'd sit across from him...

His expression tightened as his jaw tensed, and he shook his head in defiance of his own emotions, "Who are you? A reporter, then? I dunno how you found out, lady... But I'm not interested in selling my story. I didn't come back for that. And I sure as anything am not gonna spill my past to a stranger before I see my own mother."

Rising, he grabbed his coffee cup, "If you'll excuse me, you'll have to get your Diablo piece from one of the other kids out there..." If any of them survived...

 

[Elle Joyner]

Grinning, Ginny shook her head, "Don't feel bad about it, Not-a-Preacher Man... Ain't a sin I met I haven't tried, so you won't find judgement here." Uncrossing her arms, she studied the bottles behind him, top shelf she'd never actually be able to afford... It was fun to dream, sometimes. As he continued, her smile faded ever so slightly.

"Teenager? Damn. First time I got hit with that in a while." Shuffling her purse across her, she dug into it, but paused as she considered just where she was. If there was even the slightest chance...

"Funny story... Lost my ID on the six hour bus ride here. Some skeeze bag next to me spit gum on my iPad screen and I had to scrape it off. Snapped it right in half. It's part of why I'm here... To see if I can get it replaced. Don't suppose charm and good looks come with a side of mercy on a girl who is definitely of age... And had one hell of a night? Pinky swear I ain't a cop." Holding up her hand, she extended her smallest finger, crooked and waiting.

"Irish coffee sounds awful nice." Looking him up and down, she shrugged, "And it means tall, dark and handsome."