Paper Dolls (IC)

[Mobley Eats]

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

Kal blinked in blatant confusion as Grant's mood suddenly changed...Was it something she said? She thought they were just caught up in casual conversation. However, as soon as he accused her of being a reporter hungry for Diablo juicy bits for some newspaper, the wheels in her head finally started turning. "Oh...Oh!" She snapped as the realization struck her. Dang! There she went saying the wrong shit without thinking again!

She made no move to stand (her legs were still tired), but she did hold up a complacent hand in hopes of stopping Grant. "Whoa, whoa, man. Chill. I'm not some reporter or whatever, promise. Uh, here. Look." She kinda hoped she wouldn't have to do this--especially before meeting her parents, but she might as well get it over and done with. Like ripping off a band-aid...stuck on with gorilla glue.

"The fucker gave us one of these." She retracted an origami swan from her pocket; it seemed to be made from a piece of notebook paper, with faded scribbles marring it. However, she then carefully unfolded it to reveal a paper doll, old and ragged and dirty. "Paper doll, right? I'm uh, guess you can say I'm visiting to let the fam know I'm not, like...dead. So, yeah." She shrugged sheepishly. This topic never failed to make her skin crawl, but the last thing she wanted to do was scare Grant off over a misunderstanding. "I swear I don't mean any harm, man. Just wanted to chill with you for breakfast."

 

[Elle Joyner]

"Oh my God." His tone evened out, as Grant dropped back to the bench, staring with a note of horror as she unfolded the origami. He didn't need her to finish to know what it would become. He could see it in her eyes, reflected back in her soul, where it was burned forever... Same as it had been for him.

He dug into his pocket and with a breath, pulled something out, holding it clenched in his fist for a moment, before unfurling his fingers to reveal his own doll, black and blue and all the memories better left buried.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think it... It didn't even occur to me there'd be anyone else. I... I always just sort of assumed he'd... That I got lucky, you know?"

 

[Mobley Eats]

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

Kal audibly sighed in relief as she watched Grant sit back down, seeming to finally believe her. Thank goodness--that could've turned out way worse. Well, she supposed she could look back at this moment like a practice run; hopefully, things would go more smoothly once she visited her family. However, she wasn't blind. The horror seeping into Grant's visage and tone was impossible to miss, and it stirred some concern in Kal's gut.

Carefully, she reached out to lower his hand, the same one presenting his doll, before putting away her own. "Hey man, don't worry about it. I can tell this shit's got you all the way fucked up 360 and sideways. And nope, I'm good as alive." Her smile softened, giving the top of his hand a gentle pat. "I promise you're not alone in this. Not gonna lie, didn't expect to run into one too, though uh..." She paused, her lips pursing in contemplation a moment. At first, she figured telling him wouldn't be wise, as that would just extend the conversation over an unsavory topic. However, his belief that he was the only survivor seemed to be eating away at his soul.

Kal would be heartless if she didn't say anything. "Listen, Grant. I, uh...I doubt we're the only survivors. I don't remember names or faces all that well, but I'm pretty sure I saw Dia-blowhole let go a bunch of us before he dropped me off. Smack dab in Tennessee too." She chuckled, eyes trained on her cooling food. "Gotta say, I'm grateful as hell I ended up where I did. Got the best and most loving dad in history. I miss that wackjob already."

 

[KatSea]

Leon Jethro Cyrus



"I give no judgement to you miss. I just pray the next sin you don't try to commit is drinking under the age. Because in all honesty, that's gonna get me into trouble too. I like my job." He winked at her slyly, propping himself on his hands as he leaned over the counter, inspecting her up and down. A smile gathered at the corners of his mouth. "You would be surprised how old teenagers look nowadays. The poor man who closes at night had to handle at least six who appeared to be twenty six. I don't know if its makeup or bad parenting." Leon's shoulders slumped in defeat as she was unable to provide a clear identification. "I've heard more convincing stories from intoxicated men, asking me if I was sleeping with their nonexistent wives." He winked at her, although knew that the drunken mind could indeed bring around some strange sentiments. Especially towards the bartender who refused to give drinks after it was very clear that they couldn't handle any more of their alcohol.

He gently reached outwards her outstretched hand and cupped his hand around it, safely placing the pinky back where it belonged. He shook it sincerely before letting go, still shaking his head dismissively. "Ma'am I am sorry. I cannot serve without identification. It would be wrong of me to serve something to you illegally. No matter how much you pout your lips or soften your eyes. Miss, I promise, it is for your own good. Alcohol isn't any good anyway. I just am here to make sure it doesn't go overboard." His brow raised ever so slightly at her explanation and an explicit sigh escaped his lips.

"I don't know whether to be offended or flattered, miss." He had most certainly heard worse from drunken vendors, particularly words he wouldn't dare speak once more. He swallowed unsurely and glanced around the pub to see if there was anyone else he could attend to. Unfortunately, there was not, and he puffed out a gentle breath. "Look. It's a nice day outside. Go enjoy the ocean. It's too stingy in here." He waved at her towards the door, shrugging apologetically as he turned from her and began to clean at a glass absentmindedly.

 

[Elle Joyner]

GRANT
​

Trying to decode what the young woman across from him was saying was a little bit of a challenge for Grant, who hadn't exactly spent the last several years in a wide social circle. He'd mainly conversed with the elderly, in fact, who had a certain grace and poise to their language that time could not ruin... or fighters, who, well... weren't too keen on conversation as a whole.

But he gathered what he could from it, and really, all that mattered were the hard facts. She was one of them. One of the survivors... and she was probably right. If there were two, there were probably more. Possibly even... If the others from his time with Diablo had survived, then maybe he hadn't failed them, entirely. He'd done all he could but in the end, maybe it was just patience that won the day.

That, or Diablo had messed them up so thoroughly that releasing them was really the final nail in their coffins. Some days, it certainly felt like that...

"Sorry for freaking out on you. It's just... This is weird. I mean, not just that there's someone else, you know? But that you're here. Right now. Of all places." He looked down as her hand covered his and winced, but didn't pull away, nodding firmly, "Thanks, Kal. And same, I suppose. Though it sounds like you ended up somewhere pretty decent." Smiling dryly, his shoulders bounced in a shrug, "Guess I can't complain, either. It wasn't home, but it could've been worse. I just... I keep trying to work my way out the door. Figure if I can just get on the road, I'll make it to my house and things will fall into place. Easier said than done."

GINNY​

A frown found Ginny's lips, damn near adorable, as she sank back on her stool, her deception decidedly too thin to stand against someone so obviously accustomed to dealing with excuses of the sort. It wasn't easy, weighing her own internal fears and doubts against how desperately she needed a drink... and for a moment, she actually considered getting up and leaving, if only to preserve her anonymity a little while longer.

But the fact of the matter was, it didn't really matter either way. She wasn't going to get a parade for returning - she'd be shocked, really, if anyone even remembered who she was. She knew well enough where her mom had ended up, and just how long it had taken the woman to even report her daughter's absence... Coming back, it wasn't for them. So what did it really matter if she just came out with it.

"Fine..." She mumbled, and with a sigh, she dug into her purse, pulling her wallet out, "Truth is, I just really hate the picture. Those damn DMV cameras... never go off when they're supposed to. I've had mugshots that were more flattering..." Freeing her ID from the small pocket, she slid it across the bar, her heart hammering while she did her best to keep her expression even, "There you have it TDH... Legal as fireworks in July. Now about that coffee...?"

 

[Mobley Eats]

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

Kal waved off the apology. "Naw man, don't worry about it. And I totally get it; all of this is weird as holy hell," she grinned, "but getting all twisted up like a pretzel about it won't help either, you know? It's kinda like, when you've gotta meet a deadline for submitting a piece and try to get it all done the night before, but as soon as you send it in and the weight's off your shoulders, all the good inspiration hits you when it's far too late. It's fucked, you know?" It wasn't as if Kal was speaking from personal experience or anything--nope. Not at all.

She noticed how Grant flinched at the physical contact and immediately pulled away. "My bad, my bad. Touching's a no-go, gotcha. You gotta kinda remind me about that, cuz, uh," she shrugged, "I get pretty damn touchy without realizing it sometimes." Kal fell silent as Grant talked about his home...well, his second home. Or would that be considered his first? People always confused the concepts hidden behind "first" and "original", so Kal somewhat berated herself for falling into that language trap. She'd reflect over it later. "I feel that struggle, Grant my man. It's like...procrastination and doubt had a lovechild and plopped it into our laps or some shit, no questions asked. But hey, life wouldn't be worth living if it didn't come with all that jazz, you know? Christ."

She breathed a light laugh, her mind straying a bit.

"Imagine things in life actually being easier done than said. Trippy as hell, right? But then I guess we wouldn't be talking about this and you wouldn't have known that survivors were out there. Then you'd be pacing around doing physical procrastination instead of verbal. And then the next thing you know, words go extinct and we're reduced to like...aimless bumper cars." Kal blinked back to reality, realizing far too late that she had accidentally dumped her mind vomit onto poor Grant. "Ah damn, my bad! Probably sound like a loon or some shit," she chuckled. "Point is, life's rough as hell man, but boy is it rewarding as fuck when you bash that shit head on."

 

[KatSea]

Dinah Shapiro





Dinah's body bobbed weightlessly in the ocean water. Her arms outstretched, her blonde locks flowing behind her in all directions. The current pulled her back into it's dangerously grasp, then pushed her forward as if it had bored of her. Pulling,..pushing...Dinah held her breath as a thin layer of sea water cascaded over her countenance. Her eyes flickered open to the bright sun, beaming and scorching her precious irises. Her lips did not move to complain at this, and rather she closed her eyes once more and fell back into the sweet rock of the ocean. Back...forth...back...water invaded her nostrils suddenly and she jolted from her peaceful float, snorting as much as she could out of her system. Throat burning and blistering, Dinah hastily worked to get oxygen back into her lungs. After a long pant, laughter broke against her lips.

"Foolish me. For thinking the sea would play along." Dinah brushed back her wet hair and felt the weight of her soggy clothes pulling her back into the water. "Not now ~" She playfully sang to herself with a cheery smile, although mere moments before her sobs had to be drowned out by Tophet's ocean. Dinah could not help but feel dread as the memorial for the fifteenth anniversary for the dead children approached. Dinah's dreams as of late, due to this event, included seeing the children lying in caskets, their eyes peering into her own. Mortimer's coffee indulged, bulging eyes. Kahlila's own, lifeless stare piercing into her soul. All of the children who she had seen the previous year, simply being children, gone. Killed by a cruel man with cruel intentions. Researching this all, as much closure as it brought, sent Dinah on edge. Nightmares were common, and this is where she would go after a night's horrible end. She came at five in the morning and stayed until eight thirty, sometimes in the water, sometimes dragging her manicured nails down in the sand. She thought she was ready to return home now, considering Avi may have gotten up by now as well. He was a heavy sleeper, but Dinah never wished for him to worry.

Gathering her hair into one, large chunk, she twisted painfully as to get every drop of water wrung and removed from her person. She grimaced visibly as she pulled at her own scalp, but nevertheless she persisted as she strolled back to the beach, teeth now chattering as the rest of her body shook. "I curse the New England cold. Even in ninety degree weather...I feel my bones chatter." Dinah, without much warning to herself, began to rapidly swing her head from side to side, laughing as water speckled against her shoulders. Another shiver slithered down her spine. "B-bad decision." She murmured to herself and trudged to the main road once more, watching the occasional but rare car travel by. She skidded across the road and onto the lawn of who she believed to be the Goodman's home, none too far from what she believed to be the Bullocks. She couldn't be sure, considering she didn't see much of either of them. Her head was filled with a variety of bumbling ponders, and she didn't have much time to consider who was living where. She just needed to get home so she could start the day efficiently.

A motherly instinct, foreign and buried deep within her began to blossom free of it's restraints as she heard the light cry of a child, who she believed to be just a small baby, rather than a stubborn toddler. Dinah's eyes flickered up to see a man gently cradling a swaddled baby, but his glance never reached hers. He merely slumped at the sidewalk, feet outstretched onto the concrete as he cradled his precious cargo. Dinah could not identify this stranger, but she did hear something come from him, even from the distance she was at

"Don't worry sunshine." The man tilted his head towards Dinah direction, and as to not appear rude for watching the two, she turned away and continued to trudge home. Her mind did not linger long on the man, nor his child, even if they did not appear to be from around here. Tourists. Probably lost. That was it. She shook the event from her head and found great disgust as her feet sloshed against the grass, her nightgown sticking to her body and causing sweat to roll down her torso.

"Never again." She chattered, holding her arms across herself in a self fulfilling hug. She knew that was a lie in the greatest terms, but she refused to believe so as the cold seeped onto her skin. Her eyes flickered up as she nearly stumbled over her own nightgown, bracing herself for the minor fall that she bestowed upon herself. She blinked in her shame, slowly pushing herself up and sighing to herself. She shivered horribly. "O-okay. Im miserable." Dinah mumbled, brushing off her skirt and hesitantly stepping upon the porch of the shop she scrapped herself against. She grumbled as she peeled off her shoes, wriggling her toes in the grass. She exhaled, in her peace, before tilting her head back to notice she was at one of the shops she would go into, just to see what it was like to be a tourist.

"Why not...I don't really want to go home anyway." She mumbled, pushing herself up and entering the store. She rolled her shoulders back, humming in her mild irritation. Water continued to trickle down her gown down to the floor.

 

[Elle Joyner]

GRANT​

If he'd been lost before, he was nearly hopelessly lost as Kal continued off on a wild tangent. And yet, somehow, there was something oddly almost comforting about the way she rambled. Something about the way her eyes lit up with a sense of determination - she meant every single confusing word of what she said, and that was encouraging if only because it meant that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't a complete and utter wreck. Diablo had taken a lot from them, sure... but not everything.

At her apology, however, he straightened and a brow rose before he laughed and shook his head, "Sorry... It's... I'm not weird, or anything. It's just..." Turning his palms down, he held them out, showing off the impressive callouses on the rims of his knuckles, "Usually they freak people out. I was uh..." His cheeks colored a little, his gaze lowering to his hands, "I was semi-pro, back in Baltimore. For a little while, anyway. I retired, but I still like to hit the bag... for the stress, you know?"

Laying his hands back on the table, he considered her words again, revolving them in his mind and dissecting them the best he could managed, before he continued, "I don't think you sound like a loon, Kal. Truth is, I think you might be the most honest person I've met, in a real long time. It's refreshing. And you're right... I gotta do this, I'm gonna do this... so what's the point in getting worked up over it. My mom deserves better than that... even if she might not wanna see me."

HOLLY​

The chime sounded, the tinkling of bells rising just above the sound of The Who, as Holly straightened from the engine of the 1951 Packard 250 Convertible, "I'll be there in a sec!" She called, and grabbing the dusty rag from her pocket, she wiped her hands off on it. When the majority of the oil was smeared on the cloth instead of her person, she tucked the rag back in and made her way from the garage and out into the main floor of the shop. It wasn't her favorite place to be, but it was work, and work was better than sitting around thinking...

Or at least, that was generally her line of thinking - and then she saw the figure standing at the entrance of her shop and she froze. For a moment, a long, uneasy moment, she stared, heart pounding. It wasn't as though living in Tophet, she expected to never run into a familiar face, but there were some faces... way too many faces... that were just... difficult.

And Dinah Shapiro was definitely one of those faces.

They had grown up together, she and Dinah, but had never bonded quite so significantly than when Poppy had been taken. It wasn't the sort of thing you wanted to grow close with someone over, losing loved ones, yet somehow, they had found common ground in being the ones that got left behind. Then Charlie had died. Charlie died, and it had been too much. Too much for Holly to take, too many people taken...

And she had pulled away.

She'd pulled away, but apparently, not definitively...

Blinking, clearing her throat, she brushed her hands off on her jeans and nodded, "...Oh. He...hey, Dinah."

 

[Mobley Eats]

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

"Aw, man, don't worry about that!" Kal's eyes lit up with intrigue as Grant showed off the callouses on his knuckles. She hadn't really expected such a sweet and withdrawn guy to let loose on the punching bag but, then again, it's always the most recluse that bottle up the most frustration. They were also usually the most trained when it came to self-discipline. "That's actually dope as hell. Think you can show me a few casual lessons? You can just dial me up or give a shout out whenever, and I'll pop up like a whack-a-mole. All truth. And semi-pro, huh? Double dope! Which martial art was it? Karate or something? Either way, that's impressive."

Her mind wandered back to the paper doll sitting in her pocket. Cut from a page of her special journal; speaking of which, she felt a certain itch to write in it soon. Something about meeting Grant and discovering that he was another survivor of the Diablo incident inspired her. She needed to write quickly before it fled from her. "It's good to have an outlet, you know? Better than blowing up one day at someone who don't deserve it or whatever, so respect, Grant my man."

"I don't think you sound like a loon, Kal. Truth is, I think you might be the most honest person I've met, in a real long time. It's refreshing. And you're right... I gotta do this, I'm gonna do this... so what's the point in getting worked up over it. My mom deserves better than that... even if she might not wanna see me.," Grant said.

Kal blinked. Huh...that was different. She wasn't used to people besides Bromy taking so kindly to her abrasiveness; it was a huge relief, to say the least. The woman scratched her cheek with a chuckle, "For real? Cool, cool, glad to hear it. Words can't tell how many times I had folks stare at me like I done went and stole their TV or some shit. So, uh, glad I could freshen up your day!" She nodded, seemingly as proud of Grant as someone would be of their apprentice. She crossed her arms and adopted the voice of an elderly sage, finger trembling and all. "Good, good, young grasshopper. You learn quickly and..."

She dropped the weird impersonation.

"Don't be like that. It's your mom, of course she'll want to see you. Just uh, don't pull a Kal and jump into that shit without thinking." A sheepish shrug. She knew her faults. "I'm gonna try and do the same thing too; see how my parents are, try to catch up and clear shit up. Here's to hoping shit goes well for both of us?"

 

[Mobley Eats]

Reginald Bullock | Location: Black Rose Pub| Interactions: Bartender (Maybe Leon?)

He had to admit, the pub was impressive.

Though Tophet was a tad too ancient and old-fashioned for his taste, the architecture and style of the establishment fitted the atmosphere incredibly well. There was something inviting about the substantially wooden makeup, along with the warm lighting and elegant carvings. The designs were sparse and few in between, but still pleasing to the eye. On top of it all, business wasn't terribly high at this time of day, which Reggie was beyond grateful for.

He hated crowds and just most people in general.

He plopped down on a stool at the bar, swiveling the suitcase around until it was propped by his leg, and knocked on wood (ba-dum-tis!) twice to gain the bartender's attention. Features plastic and empty, he said, "Beer. As bloody cold as you can get it."

He couldn't stand room-temperature beer or any beer that was two or three degrees off from properly chilled. There had never been a specific reason why it bothered him so much, but he could recall the times he was unfortunate enough to accidentally sip warm beer. A conglomerate of pissed, shocked, and disgusted always colored his insides a fuming crimson. Then he would spit it out like a busted sprinkler. Point was, it never turned out pretty, though Koda had always found it funny somehow...

Reggie shook off the thought, grimacing at his inability to go one day without thinking about that asshole. The ginger hated him with every fiber of his being. Yet still loved him with every iota of his heart. It was a troubling paradox, and one that thrashed his existence constantly. Some proper drowning in alcohol was definitely needed. His knuckles rattled the counter once more, far more urgent this time around as nerves bundled in the pit of his gut.

"Any fucking day now," he growled.

 

[KatSea]

Isaiah Killigan




Isaiah began to wonder why he allowed Dam to have a key to his mansion, and he knew very well that he continually forgot to lock the door. This would explain the woman's intrusion, and the occasional, joyous outburst from the residing living room. Isaiah swallowed, attempting to settle his sore and tender throat. He felt like screaming. He felt like dragging his nails down his arm and leaving scratch marks. It was just Thea being rough again. They will heal with time...don't worry about it. Isaiah grimaced. When was the last time he used that excuse? But...wasn't that excuse true? It had to be. The last time he had scratch marks all over his body was when Thea was playing with him. There was no other reason to bleed, was there? Isaiah's brow pinched. How could he possibly have had the same, horrid urge as he did now, then? Especially because he couldn't remember a thing about it. His mind became cluttered at the sudden wonders, more cruel and foreign thoughts seeping into his skull.

"Oooo ~ Here's my own disappearance! I can't believe your father referred to be as the town's devil spawn..."He could hear Poppy coo from the other room, voice bright and cheery, considerably for a fifteen year carrier of memories revolving around abduction. How was she so gleeful? Probably high on ecstasy. Or worse. Editable pot.Isaiah grimaced at his own head, his eyes flickering closed before he slammed his forehead into his hands. His fingers scratched mercilessly at his scalp and he groaned, in as much pain as a wolf caught in a bear trap.

"He called you the Red Spawn, not the devil's." Isaiah mumbled, recalling the odd detail from that particular paper. He remembered all his father's ridiculous names for the missing children, as if it was some sort of game to him. Even Theona, who he referred to as "Angelic Sweetheart". This infuriated Isaiah beyond all measure, having his sister victimized beyond her abduction and murder. It made appear she wasn't strong. Isaiah knew better. Even as a child, his sister wouldn't have put up with someone putting their hands on her. Isaiah had a hard time enough as it was giving her what he called 'sneak attacks'. He suddenly missed the childish embraces he would administer and his throat caught fire as his eyes began to burn. "S-shit." He cursed under his breath as he withheld the sorrow blistering at his chest.

"Not as bad as the poor Bullock kid. Didn't he call him..."

"The Ginger Innocent. Yes. My father was not as good as he recalls himself to be." Isaiah grumbled under his breath. He heard a joyous laugh before a dog's playful bark infiltrated the atmosphere around them. Isaiah smiled softly and suddenly wished for the comfort of his animal.

"Do you think Bullock is still alive?" Poppy asked grimly, her voice becoming increasingly distant. Isaiah frowned. That was odd. He took no mind of this and rather replied

"If anyone were to have survived...I figured it would have been Theona and him. Seemed like a tough kid from what I remember." Isaiah commented, before a question came to be "How did you get away?" Poppy did not respond to the question, and Isaiah considering getting up after her. He doubted she remained in the living room. Then where would she have gone? There was the kitchen adjacent to the living room, then the stairs that led up to the bedrooms. Isaiah doubted that she was in either area, but he was still curious. Not irritably for once. "Poppy?" He called out uncertainly before footsteps frightened him from his front. Isaiah lifted his head to see a woman before him, dark hair and a bandaged hand

"Everyone keeps fucking barging into my property it seems." He growled under his breath, but before he had much time to protest her presence, she raised her hand and introduced herself as...Theona Killigan. Isaiah's eyes widened in disbelief, scanning her up and down. How...A woman claiming to be Poppy Saint-Clair barges into his home and demands to see his records, and then his supposedly dead sister walks in and asks for a job? "Im sorry....what the actual fuck?" He inquired, his brows pinched in total fear. "Y-you...You are telling me that..."He swallowed painfully, standing to full length as he approached her, eyes ever peering and inspecting her. "Paper doll. Do you have one?" Isaiah inquired coldly, arms crossed, eyes scorching with threats of emotion. He shut them tightly as to prevent it and he scowled. "If you don't have any proof you can get the hell out, don't come back, you hear?" He bit his lip, harshly enough to pierce his skin. "Do, You. Have it." He questioned her again, chest quivering as his nails dug into his palms. Pain ignited.

"ISAIAH DO YOU LIKE BLACK TEA OR GREEN TEA." He heard a sudden exclamation burst from the other room. His face scrunched up and with a hesitant sigh he replied




"There is peach honey in the..."

"FOUND IT!" He grimaced again at the woman. What a bizarre person within his household. Two, bizarre women within his household.

 

[Mobley Eats]

Garfield | Interactions: Monday

Gar watched as the woman plucked a ten dollar bill from her shoe and dropped it into his tea cup. He pulled his lips into his mouth, staring at the lonely bill with displeasure. Well now--that wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all.

Ten dollars was nowhere near enough.

Regardless, he held his tongue long enough to let her pet Delilah and say her piece. The rodent squeaked and nuzzled the woman's finger, more than happy to receive some attention. Yep, that was his pretty girl, always a glutton for some good old fashioned TLC. Not as if she didn't receive more than enough from Gar, but she'd never turn down proper loving. Sometimes that worried Gar, as he didn't want to see his Pretty Girl scurry up to some stranger on her own and get snatched--it would break his heart. With no hopes of repairing it.

He was pulled from his thoughts upon hearing the woman's question. He cracked a toothy, lopsided smile. "Delilah. My little Pretty Girl, queen of the flower beds and the coldest damn fire you'd done ever seen a dragon petal breathe." He'd engage in a fist fight with anyone who thought otherwise. Gar then scratched his beard thoughtfully, scanning the woman up and down lazily. "I lives nowhere. My uncle's dirt keeps me warm and cozy at night and up and about at day. Sing hallelujah!" He released a long, hearty laugh while smacking his knee--only to sober up out of nowhere with a dead serious gaze. He pointed at the woman and whispered gravely, "Goodman, Goodman...all these good men with bad souls. Do you believe in the resurrection? No? Shit," he yanked off his bean to ruffle his blonde lion's mane, "Then yes. Goodmans love the water, never leave it. Can never learn to let go."

A chiding tone entered his voice as the same finger hovered over his lips. "Learn to let go."

Suddenly, he yanked the money out of his tea cup and chucked it at the woman's feet with a disgusted grunt. "Take it! Dirtied my teacup! No pennies! Wanted pennies." His complaining dwindled into a grumble as he stared into the emptiness of his cup, petting Delilah gingerly with his free hand. The creature squeaked and sniffed at his cheek in concern. "Take your paper elsewhere, back on in that boot." And just like that, the bitterness faded and the content made a random comeback. "Ten dollars not enough. Pay more." Rather than extending the cup out, he point at her. "Pay me with your name."

 

[KatSea]

Leon Jethro Cyrus

"That is a story I am more likely to believe. I understand completely, but I need to make sure I am not breaking the law. Not that the enforcement here in town is the best around." He stifled a chuckle. He meant no harm to the children of Joseph and Arabella Saint-Clair, but he knew that there were several cracks that could be slipped through. There wasn't violent crime due to the "everyone knows everyone" mentality, but Leon had experience with loose lipped patrons who liked to talk about the certain things they did with their wife's money. It didn't matter to him. He did it for the fact that he felt genuine need to care for the patrons.

He peeked over to the ID, his brow raising as he glanced down to the picture, then to the name. "That names sounds familiar." His eyes flickered up to meet her, and with a gentle smile he asked. "I suppose it would be inappropriate to ask if we had met before. I just want to make sure that I am not losing my mind." Without allowing a response, Leon turned from Ginny and began to prep the drink, humming sweetly as he went along. "I honestly cannot believe that more people do not ask for this in the morning. I know it can wake me up just from the scent. Here you are, miss." Sliding the drink over carefully, he resumed his position as he leaned against the counter. "Are you a tourist? I don't think I've seen you around at all before. Unless I have missed out on a family's drama, which can happen." Leon always kept his ears open and his mouth shut. He had no opinion on the going ons of the townsfolk, but he did wish to stay informed, just in case his own family was involved.

The last time the Cyrus's were involved in town gossip is when it was suspected Leon was going to run off with a Sloan, but in reality he was only helping her pack for New York as a favor for watching the bar for a few nights. Leon merely brushed it off, although he preferred to have a heads up the next time someone accused him of sleeping with a friend of his.

"Oh, one minute miss. And please, it is mister TDH." He winked at her before sliding over to the red headed man, who he acknowledged with a nod. He appeared old enough, but still, the question was upon his lips. "Identification please." He offered a gentle smile, but made his way to filling the beer mug. "I trust you are old enough." In a quieter voice he whispered "That lovely lady over there though would probably be mighty angry if I let you off." He chuckled heartily under his breath, passing the beer to the young man. "Tourist? You look like you could be a Saint-Clair."

A pause.

"Not to be offensive."

 

[Elle Joyner]

GRANT​

Chuckling, Grant nodded, "I could probably show you a thing or two. I didn't do much - mostly boxing... A little Muay Thai, but I didn't have the shins for it. Haven't taught anyone for a while, but it's kind of like riding a bike, I guess." She mentioned the outlet, and Grant nodded, "It's definitely better to have some way to let it all out. When I first got free, I was a mess... Didn't know where to go, what to do with myself. Had all these horrible thoughts and feelings that I didn't understand. Took a few years, but I got into training and it just... I dunno... It pulled me out of it."

Pulled him out of it, but perhaps a little too far. His fists clenched briefly as he reflected on the memories, clearing his throat a moment later and laying them flat again. She continued, and he laughed softly at her teasing, before nodding. She was certainly not what he'd expect from a survivor of what they'd been through, and nothing like anyone he'd met before - he meant what she said, but there was no point harping on her strangeness.

Her advice was sound and reasonable, despite her penchant for spilling into craziness, and his smile warmed as he sat back, crossing his arms in contemplation, "Yeah. I guess it sounds pretty stupid, worrying about my mother wanting to see me. It's just... after so long, you know? Hell... You don't... I mean... You think maybe you'd wanna go with me? Not inside or anything but just, sort of morale support up to the door? I could do the same for you. Not that you seem exactly nervous."

GINNY​

At his words, however simple and innocent as the bartender might've meant them to be, Ginny paled. It took everything for her not to bolt upright, grab her ID and run out of the pub. In truth, there was nothing more suspicious, and nothing that engendered concern more than someone freaking out, but it was difficult, for sure, not to want to. Panic filled her, briefly, and she was glad when he disappeared to help the other patron - silently praying the irritable ginger was enough of a distraction from the matter at hand.

Her eyes moved to the coffee, and Ginny plucked up the mug, taking a long, slow sip, sorry she didn't ask for something she could chug down a little faster. And yet, as she set the mug down again, a strange thought occurred to her. She was back, and she was obviously there for a reason - whatever that might be. Some sick creep had sent her a letter, dragging her back into hell...

Maybe it wasn't the end of the world if she got the whole 'OMG' moment out of the way on her own terms.

Her eyes shifted to the bartender, and she breathed out, "It's Ginny..." She called, as casually as she dared, "I used to live here, about fifteen years ago. Got a cheapass grave stone somewhere, probably where you've seen it."

 

[Mobley Eats]

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

Kal released a long whistle. "Daaaaamn...Muay Thai? You're on that Tony Jaa shit, huh? Very nice." However, her optimism flickered at the mentioning of strong shins and she shrugged off the offer. "But uh, I'll pass on the Muay Thai; like you said, don't have the shins for it. Boxing could be cool as hell though. I'd always be down for a lesson or two, teach." The aches in her calves had worn off by now, though her ankle still rolled slowly under the table to soothe it. "And I ain't never said it was stupid. What you're feeling is totally normal, Grant my man, but at the end of all this crazy shit, you've got a support system." She gestured to herself with a jab of the thumb, smile warm and playful. She liked Grant; something about his sweetness was appealing, yet she couldn't miss the hint of sorrow lurking underneath. He was broken or, at the very least, used to be.

However, Kal's eyebrows arched high on her forehead as Grant asked her to accompany him. Now that...was entirely unexpected but, then again, she should've seen this coming. For Christ's sake, she had just offered herself up as a form of support for the man, why wouldn't he ask her to come along? But still, the shock coursing through her was potent and she could only thank the heavens that her upbeat attitude remained intact. "Man, hell yeah! Of course I'll roll up with you. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't?" She gave pause, lips pursing, before adding in a somewhat sheepish tone. "And uh...no worries, Grant. You don't have to do the same for me. I'll be alright."

 

[Mobley Eats]

Reginald Bullock | Location: Black Rose Pub| Interactions: Leon & Ginny

"Identification please."

Reggie's eyebrow twitched.

"I trust you are old enough. That lovely lady over there though would probably be mighty angry if I let you off," the bartender whispered, his playful tone of voice grating on Reggie's nerves like a blade against concrete.

He clenched his jaw and without sparing a glance at the man, hissed between his teeth, "What a bloody relief. Since I look the part, then fuck off with the ID spiel and hand me a beer." He could care less how unsavory his attitude was, especially towards some man who was merely doing his job; as far as he cared, this man would soon become one of his employees. The Bullocks owned the Black Rose Pub. Whatever bullshit this guy planned on shoving down Reggie's throat would come back to bite him in the ass later, he would make damn sure of it.

His dull eyes glanced over to the woman in question...Bah. The hell if he cared about how she felt. If her being content didn't benefit him in any way, then she could stomp about the place ranting and raving for all he cared. "Like I give a flying fuck about how she feels. Oi," he pointed at the bartender, "Here's something I do give a fuck about--who owns this bloody joint? Research says that the Bullocks run this place, right?"

However, the bartender's most recent statement struck him like a hammer. Scowl dipped in bitterness, he squinted at the man while grumbling, "Oh, now we're making the redhead jabs? Fuck off with that, bloody prick. I get more pepper head and flaming Cheetoh comments than you get TDH." He spat TDH with an oozing dose of sarcasm while shooting the woman a sideways glare. He had definitely overheard their conversation from earlier and he wasn't amused by it in the slightest.

 

[KatSea]

Dinah Shapiro

Dinah's head snapped up at a very familiar voice, her heart sinking into her chest as she realized that she had accidentally stumbled into her old friend's shop. "Holly!" She greeted cheerfully, a hesitant smile creeping upon her lips. "Oh dear I forgot you had this little place. How is it going?" She asked uncertainly, playing with locks of her hair nervously as she worked to tie a bun behind her hair. She did not blame the poor woman for breaking off all contact with her after her fiance had died. Dinah had never knew the pain of losing a romantic partner, but she certainly understood the pain of losing someone close to her. Mortimer, Kal, Grant... their deaths broke the young woman's heart, not even the comfort of her father's homeland could stitch it back together. Holly's friendship and the countless other sweet supporters had began to fix her broken heart. She wasn't surprised when Holly became isolated, but it picked and prodded at an already open wound. Dinah kept her smile

"S-sorry I don't come to drop in more often. The Summer of Love is becoming way too busy if you ask me...I honestly wish I could get a break. As much fun as it is." She rubbed at her trembling shoulders in order to get warm. She wished to peel out of her wet clothes and slither into pajamas for the rest of the day. Avi would most likely have none of it, but Dinah was far more productive when she was comfortable. "Has it been busy with tourists?" Dinah continued, biting her lip as anxiety built.

Dinah never had a hard time meeting up with old friends, but Holly she wanted to be especially careful with. Dinah had never properly became friends with Poppy Saint-Clair, considering the wild child mentality. Dinah respected it highly as a child, but that usually meant that Poppy was kept behind closed doors. Not to mention her disappearance was hushed up for as long as possible. "Also excuse me please. I must look like a blonde variation of the woman from the Ring. Maybe I can go scare grumpy Killigan." She offered a gentle smile.

 

[KatSea]

Monday Goodman

Monday's body relaxed involuntarily as the creature happily nestled against her finger as she pet it. "At least I have one friendly friend in this little valley of hell." She mumbled, her free hand unconsciously hiding her cross underneath her shirt. Her shoulders did begin to tense, and her hand moved to the knife at her hip. She did not move as he rambled about good men and bad souls, about the glory of his ferret(Monday had a very good feeling her pocket knife would be used to tear her apart if she said otherwise), and finally what she was hoping for.

She's still by the water. Goddamn it. Of course it's going to be the place where I am going to hate the most.

"I believe in forms of being brought back from the dead. Just not the holy kinds." Monday's lips curled into a near smirk. The dead being a grungy old apartment where it smelt like beer and hands are constantly grasped around my waist. Grimy, meaty, sweaty hands. God damn that man straight to hell. Her brows suddenly knit as he pointed to her, asking her to let go, then dropped her ten dollar bill back to the ground at her feet. Somewhat horrified, Monday knelt down and took a grasp at the bill, shoving it into the depths of her jean pockets. "Pennies? I am sorry sir I have none. This is all I have." This was true. Monday hadn't had much money before she had left, and the rest was very difficult to get. Change wasn't something she liked to have lingering and weighing down her pockets, either. She bit her lip, her feet shifting uncomfortably as he asked her for her name.

"My name. My name is Monday." She bobbed her head slowly, the name falling off the tongue much more naturally than her given name. She supposed she would have to thank Jane for the gift later. "I am not one to socialize with strangers, but I suppose because I have paid with my name, you should pay with yours."

I do not understand why I am continuing this chatter. Perhaps this is because I truly, truly don't want to go back to her. Stalling seems like the most reasonable option. Yes. For now this is reasonable. But I just pray she isn't dead when I get there. Then again, I wouldn't be surprised.

 

[KatSea]

Leon Jethro Cyrus

Leon's head popped up away from the red head briefly as the woman, Ginny, mentioned something about an empty grave. The truth hit him hard and fast, his mouth dropping in a wordless gape. "Ginny Edershem? That's...that explains the familiarity." He blinked in confusion. That couldn't be possible, could it? Then again, none of the children were found after all these years. But something else did stick out to Leon. This simply could have been a tourist with a very similar name that decided to come into town and cause some mayhem. But then why was she so initially hesitant to show her identity? "Huh. Good to see you've come back from the dead miss Ginny." He bobbed his head, nearly ignoring the angry red head at this point. Leon had learned how to shut out the angry voices of many patrons.

"Here is your drink then sir. I mean no harm." He slid it over, humming a comforting tune to himself before turning a big smile onto his face. "The Bullocks run this place as much so as my ancestor still haunts the mayor's building. So, in a sense, they do own the place." Leon placed his hands up peacefully and shook his head "I don't understand what you want with the Bullocks, but if you are interested about who owns the place I could easily get you their phone number. Or you know, you can barge into the mayor's office and ask them yourself."

"Ah. I apologize for even bringing it up. I was just curious if one of the Saint-Clair's had something they wanted to explain." He chuckled softly, realizing now that the unfamiliar man recognized the name. "If it makes you feel better, I have a lot of words beginning with the letter n dropped on me when I don't serve beer to certain people. Now, I am curious, how do you know the Saint-Claris? I haven't met you in town before." He began in a more friendly tone, eyes flickering back and forth between the woman who claimed to be the dead Ginny Edershem. "Huh. Actually, are you a Bullock by any chance?"

 

[Elle Joyner]

GRANT​

Chuckling, Grant gave a nod, "Alright, then. Once I get settled in, I'll see what sort of gym the town has and call you up. I gotta warn you, though... it's been a few months since I fought, and I'm a little rusty." She continued, and his smile brightened as he sank back a little in his seat, relaxation rolling through his shoulders as the tension eased.

A support system. When was the last time he had anything of the sort... At least where it didn't cost him something... Money, pride, dignity... To have someone in his corner who wanted to be there. And someone he'd met no less than ten minutes ago. It was a wild thought - a thought he wasn't completely sure he trusted fully - but one he wasn't going to brush aside, either.

His shoulders bobbed in a shrug, when she agreed to go with him, but a brow quirked shortly thereafter, "Hey, now. That's not how it works, you know. I mean... if you wanna go alone, that's okay, too. But don't think I offered just to get you to come with me. I meant it, Kal. You need a friend, you've got one, too..."

GINNY​

Sitting where she was, she could overhear the brash red head, in irritating splendor... it would've been a small miracle really if half of the town hadn't heard him, and it was... trying, to put it mildly, not to stand up and give the man a piece of her mind (or more). But as the bartender rolled with it in his smooth fashion, she nearly managed to cool herself down, and was about to respond to his call out to her, when he went on...

"The Bullocks run this place as much so as my ancestor still haunts the mayor's building..."

Whatever she was going to say, whatever had formed in her mind, they faded at hearing those words. She had never been particularly fond of, or good at history, even where Tophet was concerned, but she knew well enough about their fine Mayor Cyrus... and there was only one person who could possibly consider himself an ancestor of the good mayor, who fit the age of the man before her. Color faded from her cheeks as she pushed her stool back and rose to her feet.

"...Leon?" There were few people in Tophet that Ginny had ever felt any sort of connection with - so few, she could lose both feet and a hand and still count them, and Leon Cyrus was one of them. Eyes stinging, she blinked, shaking her head and with haste, she dug into her purse, pulling out a handful of money, tossing it on the counter, before moving swiftly for he door.

HOLLY​

Biting her lip, Holly watched Dinah with an odd sense of uncertainty. It wasn't very often she found herself in a position where she wasn't entirely sure what to do - normally decisive to a compulsive degree. But then, she was also normally dealing with customers, who she spoke with very briefly, and over matters that hardly mattered much. This was someone she had been friends with. Someone who knew her... parts of her she kept hidden away, now.

"It's uh..." Blinking, she managed a small, weary smile and a shrug, "It's going well enough, I guess. Took it down to three days a week, but with the garage out back, I make out okay." Shuffling, she brushed her hands off on her jeans a third unnecessary time, before moving to the counter, pulling herself up on it, "And don't worry about it. I... I know I haven't exactly been... I mean... You know. Anyway... It's okay. I'm glad you stopped by. I've been meaning to... to check in. But it's been hard."

At the mention of the upcoming festivities, she grimaced a little, but hid it behind rubbing her nose, nodding faintly, "I... I forgot that was coming up, soon. Going well, then?"

To her apology, Holly laughed softly, strained, but genuine, and this time, she shook her head with a small smile, "And don't worry about that, either. You still look like a rockstar. But if you wanna freak out Isaiah, wait around a few hours, he usually stops in to... to check on me."