Closed Starter For Maeve! @repentulant

"good save, babe. you had me worried there." they tease. as if hana could do anything to make her look ominous. kennedy thinks she could commit a murder and still find a way to make it endearing. something they might have to consider a little deeper about after tonight's events. fingers easily interlocking with hers as kennedy leads them out from the dancefloor. not without giving hana another twirl of course. "is it just me or is this party... actually fun?" especially for how low their expectations were to begin with.

☾ ❝ eee ! ❞ she nearly squeals at kennedy, nodding enthusiastically at the suggestion. ❝ yes please. i want one of those things that look like a lab experiment. ❞ she pauses, then laughs at herself. ❝ like, one of the tube drinks. not the people. ❞

"yikes, dude. they got you good." kennedy winces when he gestures towards his face. "people are losing their goddamn minds — did sel make it out, okay?" they ask, though they wouldn't blame him if he didn't know. maybe they should text her. a tender smile grows at santiago's offer. god, when was the last time they slept under the same roof? "it's okay, i can take the couch. i have to whip something up for work by 5am." they can still make it, they think. if they borrow santi's laptop and chug some water. "i don't think i could sleep even if i wanted to... do you have work tomorrow? how is that going?" is now the time for them to have some small talk? probably not but if the tremble of their fingers as they aimlessly smooth their dress down is an indicator for anything, it's that they would rather not be alone right now.

⁑ the corner of his mouth quirks into a smile when he's humored. ❝ glad you're okay too. ❞ and he's genuine about that. santi doesn't mention the body that police found tonight, but he's sure they know about it. ❝ fuck, i don't even know. i was walking to catch up with sel and then— i dunno, boom. smacked in the head. ❞ he gestures to the bruising part of his face. he hesitates for a moment, then offers, ❝ you should stay over tonight. i can take the couch. crazy night. ❞

kennedy stuart ​​🇯​​🇪​​🇳​​🇳​​🇮​​🇫​​🇪​​🇷​ ​🇨​​🇭​​🇪​​🇨​​🇰​​ makes an appearance @ the warehouse, this halloween!

"a pony?" that makes them chuckle, amused by nadia's imagination. they shift their gaze past her, scanning the crowd, determination etched on her features. "there has got to be someone in here dressed as a little — there." they tilt their chin behind nadia where one can barely see the head of a horse poking out from a wall of people. "okay, no pony. close enough? i could still go wrangle him for you?" they offer. a poker face not something they usually struggle to maintain but the scenario is so ridiculous that kennedy can't help but break her attempt to look serious with a smile. "good! then you're welcome. happy to be of service." finally someone appreciates their bossy attitude! "shots? nadia... are you trying to get me into trouble tonight?" cus she just might, kennedy thinks. "as long as it's not vodka. unless your gearing to carry me home tonight."

" whatever i want ? what if i want a pony ? " nadia replies , twisting one of her eyebrows up in amusement . she allows kennedy to lead the way , trusting they know the SAFEST way out , with minimum groping by strangers . " firstly , tequila is never basic . " nadia says , with a small shake of her head . " secondly , i'm glad for the dragging . " nadia says honestly . she'll never turn down a party , per se , but of late she's been more than glad to have her routine of sleeping at a reasonable time . she's almost turned anti-social , which is not something that should be synonymous with her . " two tequila sodas then . here i was thinking i could charm you into doing a shot with me . . . "

YOU'RE  BIG.  LARGER  THAN  LIFE.  she’s  heard  that  before.  in  a  voice  that  sounded  like  rafaels,  but  wasn't his.  close—painfully  so—  but  not  quite  as  deep.  the  familiarity  is  bittersweet,  endearment  and  affliction  flickering  through  her  almost  as  quickly  as  the  lights  around  them.  kennedy  is  glad  his  back  is  to  hers  then,  grateful  for  the  bodies  he  has  to  navigate  through,  taking  advantage  of  those  extra  seconds  gained  to  compose  herself  before  they  reach  their  destination.  “used  to?”  an  eyebrow  quirks  at  that,  lips  parted  in  a  silent  scoff.  “don’t  give  up  on  me  yet!  i  still  have  time.”  that's  what  they  would  like  to  tell  themselves  anyways.  that  one’s  life  isn’t  over  if  they  don’t  achieve  all  their  goals  by  age thirty.  that  her  return  to  redcreek  didn’t  mean  she  failed.  it  was  only  temporary. 

now  settled  by  the  bar,  kennedy  is  suddenly  aware  of  how  much  they  have  had  to  drink.  the  room  was  still  swaying  even  though  they  no  longer  were.  they  blink,  slowly,  the  buzz  from  the  liquor  washing  over  them  like  a  blanket,  warm  and  heavy.  maybe  that’s  why  it’s  easy  to  make  promises  for  next  time.  to  get  caught  up  in  the  excitement  of  reconnecting  with  him.  as  if  she  hadn’t  spent  the  last  years  carefully  curating  a  distance  between  them.  “yeah?  are  you  saying  i  can  just  show  up  one  day  and  ask  for  that  dance?  i  know  where  you  work,  velazquez.”  she  flashes  him  a  pleased  grin  as  he  slides  the  drink  her  way,  quick  to  raise  the  glass  to  her  lips.  “it  suits  you,  by  the  way.  the  tattoo  shop.  you  always  were  the  creative  one.”

isn’t  that  right,  joaquin?

the  thought  arises,  a follow-up that feels as natural as breathing,  but  gets  lodged in  her  throat  when  she  turns  to  share  a  look  with…  NO  ONE.  picture  frames  of  tender  moments,  but  no  house  to  hold  them  anymore.  is  that  what  grief  is?  as  rafael  leans  into  her  initial  touch,  her  hand  flattens  against  his  skin,  the  pads  of  her  fingers  pressing  weakly,  as  if  to  check  if he’s  really  here.  she only catches the tail end of his question, gaze flickering to meet his once more.  “no.”  she  breathes  out,  a  subtle  rasp  in  her  voice,  that  knot  tightening  over  her  chords.  dark  hues  scan  his  face,  committing  every  feature  to  memory.  as  if  he  too  was  going  to  disappear  the  moment  she  let  go.  “you  look  beautiful.”   once  again  taking  his  lead,  dropping  by  her  guard  to  reveal  an  unexpected  moment  of  sincerity  in  the  least  ideal  setting.  only  this  time,  she  doesn’t  have  the  time  to  think twice before another slip—  “i  really  missed  you,  you  know  that?”  

at  that,  rafael  laughs  -  a  small  shake  of  his  head  all  that's  needed  for  a  few  stray  stands  to  fall  over  his  eyes.  eyelashes  blinking  through  them  to  watch  her,  "i'd  love  to  see  what  you'd  do  with  that  power,  kennedy  -  you're,  big.  larger  than  life."  it's  something  joaquin  would  say;  the  memories  barely  skim  the  surface  of  his  thoughts  -  he  strikes  a  rainboot  through  them,  sinks  them  further.  "used  to  think  you'd  -  conquer  the  whole  world."  it's  genuine,  too  genuine  for  the  club  -  for  the  crowd  around  them,  for  the  buzz  at  the  back  of  his  head,  warming  where  spine  meets  skull.  "yeah,"  he  agrees,  easily;  a  passing  laugh,  "but  it's  still  true,  either  way."

his  forearms  meet  the  edge  of  the  bar,  still  close  to  kennedy  -  still  allowing  space  between  them.  it's  the  most  they've  spoken  since  -  since  then.  for  once;  rafael  doesn't  want  to  think  about  it.  "you  know  where  to  find  me,  ken  -  door's  always  welcome  for  a  good  -  waltz."  beer  left  on  the  counter,  rafael's  turned  towards  them,  sliding  the  tequila  sunrise  her  way.  he's  always  one  to  lean  into  touch,  subconscious  as  their  finger  hooks  onto  him.  another  laugh  escapes  him,  so  easy.  "you're  the  first  one  to  get  it,  i  think  -  yeah,  the  tall  guy.  dunno...  felt  easy,  at  the  time.  now  i'm  feeling  a  bit  like  a  -  misplaced  film  bro.  do  the  wings  make  me  look  pretentious,  ken?  you  can  -  be  honest,  with  me.  can  handle  the  truth."

VICKY CRISTINA BARCELONA (2008)

kennedy trains their gaze on the slit of the dress, as effie speaks. "that's a shame. i could stitch it up for you, if you'd like. do you work tomorrow?" it's only a halloween dress, so kennedy wouldn't blame effie if she just wanted to throw it away. a soft chuckle escapes them when their words are served right back at them. the two really did seem to share a knack for catching things, a vigilance that was no doubt cultivated by their profession. sometimes, it felt like effie shared every aspect that made kennedy a good writer and then some. the grace in which the blonde carries herself is something kennedy is not used to seeing from her fellow reporters. it's borderline infuriating really. journalists are like vultures after all and what business does a vulture have to pretend like they aren't starving for their next meal? it makes them equal parts intrigue and wary, because they are not fully convinced there isn't something of a darker side wrapped in the picture-perfect image that is effie floyd. even her description of her usual night is so... her.

"well, for a fish out of water, you can move." kennedy says with a smile, allowing themselves to follow effies lead in swaying to the rythm. "okay love. whiskey sours are definitely classy." way more than their preference for tequila sodas. a laugh escapes them at effi's words about her city girl antics. "it isn't my scene. not really. i only indulge in this kind of stuff once in a blue moon. figured my first halloween back in town counted as a special enough occasion" simply put, kennedy just wanted to show off tonight. 'sup, losers i'm back in town and not only am i successful but i also look hot covered in blood haha i win you lose.' "so i take it you weren't much of a party girl back home?"

" did something happen ... " she remembers the split of her dress in an instant. thin, sutured with a quick pin stolen from the bar. " oh, that. ugh, got it caught on someone's spikey belt. i think. " an exasperated sigh. " and you say you can't get anything past me ... look at you. " on the contrary, effie hasn't drank yet. she tries to stray away from the habit. finds being the role of the sober friend at the party to be more fulfilling. though, really, who is she to pass up the offer? the atmosphere here is different than the office, kennedy seems to feel lighter. she'll take it. another show of her good intent in picking at her pieces ; the small criticism. if effie thinks differently of kennedy she'd never voice it unless it becomes a necessity. it hasn't yet.

" my poison is usually a warm blanket and wine at home. i'm kind of a fish out of water here. " she grasps kennedy's hands in a steadying gesture, coaxes her to sway with the beat just a bit. " think ... i'll go with the classic whiskey sour though. classy. " she grasps kennedy's hands in a steadying gesture, coaxes her to sway with the beat just a bit. " but i think ... i'll go with the simple whiskey sour though. real classy. " and that's her personal cue to pull their sway towards the bar. " gotta say, didn't think this was your scene. though i guess i sold you too short as a new york girl, huh ? "

"eh, you're not missing about much. beer's just... you know, cheap." it fit his nature of taking things slow. shots were too quick, too reckless, and much harder to nurse on those nights when he simply didn't want to be alone. but quinn's offer was kind and as a man who could use a little more of it himself, it was only natural for him to agree. he taps her shot glass with his, then downs the shot. the burn is strangely soothing. it gives him something to focus on. "oh! yes, that's me." any reminder that vikram is not invisible to others makes him nervous. "yeah, i think I've seen you around too. i usually work with the mortuary so i don't really um, get to meet other people. what do you do there?" she seems a little young to be a doctor.

the  brunette  let  out  a  laugh,  “  unfortunately  ,  i'm  gluten  free  …  so  beer  and  me  don't  usually  get  along  .  ”  she  responded  ,  sending  the  taller  male  a  friendly  grin  .  quinn  had  recognized  vikram  from  the  hospital  ,  but  it  was  usually  during  a  moment  where  she  was  quite  busy  and  stressed  .  quinn  wasn't  super  outgoing  ,  but  she  wasn't  super  introverted  -  she  was  somewhere  in  the  middle  .  if  she  didn't  know  someone  ,  she  didn't  always  say  hi  ,  but  when  alcohol  was  involved  …  her  extroverted  side  had  an  edge  .  “  yeah  !  i'm  quinn  .  ”  she  responded  ,  holding  up  the  shot  glass  and  cheersing  .  “  vikram  ,  right  ?  i've  seen  you  a  few  times  at  the  hospital  ,  i  believe  .  ”

kennedy does one better than closing the door. they lock it. in one sharp motion, unwilling to let anyone get wrapped up in the shit storm that is about to ensue... they turn back to face him, expression a melting pot of emotions— anger, disdain, disgust, and just when it's about to flicker into something more vulnerable... he opens his goddamn mouth. "don't—" they raise a cautionary finger. the smug calmness in his response only serves to stoke the fire burning inside them, their pulse pounding in their throat. "don't act like you have the situation under control.   dimwit officers? don't trust the sheriff?" it wasn't that kennedy didn't share the sentiment. they're certain they've made a passing comment about the incompetence of most police departments to ricardo. but in the world of journalism, there were rules to play and pissing off the most reliable source of information had rookie mistake written all over it. "you fucked us. you fucked me." and he doesn't pay her enough for that. "where did you even get this information? why didn't you share this with me? or effie?"

ricardo knew this was going to happen . he's never been an idiot , but he does move fast enough that sometimes it makes people consider he COULD be an idiot . cunning always is worn in a certain way when it comes to him . WHEN HE GOT THE PHOTOS - he did think of kennedy . he thought of them straight away . he knew exactly how they would have looked at the photos in reverence and awe . kennedy would have known exactly the way to deal with it . the best way to write it . the PUNCHIEST statements to click ' enter ' on . ricardo hates to admit that he needs anyone , let alone kennedy . but if she had been in the office with him that morning , things might have turned out differently . ALAS SHE WASN'T . he was as alone as he was born , and like wolves do - he struck as quick as he could . RICARDO CLOSES HIS EYES AS SOON AS HE HEARS KENNEDY ENTER . the rage within her in imminent , it vibrates through the walls of the register . " close the door behind you . " he greets back , pleasantly . he doesn't need to look down at the newspaper to see his own typed words and the photos BLINKING BACK AT HIM . he's spent enough time with them . " you're mad . " he notes .

the silence between is heavy and the house seems to settle within it, wind whistling through the room as if to cut the tension. a shiver runs through them once more, the chill more physical than mental this time. kennedy is hyper-aware of their surroundings. of the dust particles floating in the air, the stray moonlight peeking into the room from poorly boarded-up windows, and kieran talbot. standing as the centerpiece.  illuminated by a warm light, lips parted slightly, a small twitch in his brow, dark eyes trained on them with a reflected caution. he almost looks like a painting. like something they would see in some museum, drawn by an unknown tragic artist, toeing the line between beautiful and unsettling. so kennedy does flinch when kieran moves closer, all instinct, eyes narrowing into daggers— a silent warning.

the mention of their book is unexpected and the wary glare softens into something kennedy can’t quite place, somewhere between amusement and surprise. they were sure that their parents did their best to spread the word about kennedy's achievement around town but they didn’t actually expect anyone care enough to pick up their book. they haven't spoken to anyone about it, not even santiago. so under kieran's mention of it, they suddenly find themselves thinking back on their time in italy.

a small church yet beautifully ornate with stained glass windows depicting idolized saints and dutiful angels. their eyes meeting his— the priest in their story. father caruso. the last murderer they were in a room with as far as they know .  the man who had the whole town wrapped around his finger. kennedy remembers looking around the cathedral, catching glimpses of the people in the pews looking up at him with teary reverence, clinging to his every word.

kieran’s voice pulls them back to the present, directing their attention to the battered bed nearby. sybil thorne’s bed. kennedy’s flashlight follows instinctively, skimming over the surface before snapping back to kieran, unwilling to lose sight of him. they feel disoriented, trapped between two worlds—the cathedral in their memory and the decaying thorne house.

kieran’s words settle in the room like the dust swirling in the faint light. more lamb than butcher. the phrase plays over in their mind, the weight of it heavier than they expect. "yeah?" they finally speak up, canting their head slightly, a slow-growing smile making its way to their features. "so what's a sweet little lamb like you doing out here then? hoping to find a purpose to bleed yourself into?" kennedy wasn’t fully convinced, they would be foolish to be, but they’ve never been the type to look to god or the universe for guidance. their gut was their bible and right now, it’s telling them that the kid who spent years buried in old articles and cold cases might be better used as an asset than dismissed as a suspect. they lower their flashlight some, and perhaps their guard as well. for now at least. "'cus i might just be on the same boat as you. " there's another pause then, only this time it doesn't feel so daunting. "do you think this place is actually haunted?" a sudden ask. they just can't help but shake the feeling that they were being watched. was it paranoia? god?

ꜜ ﹙ ⚰️  ﹚ ﹕ the questions hung heavy in the air for a few moments, met with kieran's silence as the thorne house creaked and groaned with every cold autumn breeze, almost as if the very walls were an audience reacting to this confrontation. he held his stance even against the blinding light of kennedy's flashlight, expression caught somewhere between surprise and something more akin to indignance against the returned accusation. it should be expected ﹕ he probably checked off multiple boxes in some litmus test for serial killers, but allegations felt like smoke sometimes ⸻ it could be suffocating if left unchallenged. he let the silence stretch out between them just for a few more beats, the weight of it pressing down on him like the dust that covered this old rotten place, before finally taking a small step forward. just to see if it would rattle them, just to see if they would flinch, just to see how much kennedy actually believed him to be red creek's newest murderer. then, a smile as he shook his head. “ i read your book, y'know ? great work you did there. but people look at it like it was an exposé on that priest, the oh so terrible things he did to maintain people's faith ... but the way i see it, it's more a revelation of the lies people tell themselves. ” kieran shrugged nonchalantly, casting his light on the bedside table, where sibyl thorne's weathered bible remained after all these years. and he wondered if she believed god would save her son from the misplaced wrath of this town. “ they need something to believe in, something bigger than their own insignificance. faith healing, prayers to some god, a big dose of hope and dopamine from the bible— because to live in a world without that, without the illusion of purpose, of salvation, would be too much. it's easier to believe in that whole weird apocalyptic scifi literature than accept we're just specks of dust drifting in a universe that doesn't really give a damn. ” and finally another step forward, hands raised in feigned surrender. he didn't always say much, sometimes not even enough, but kieran felt an affinity for kennedy ﹕ both of them only trying to make sense of what was happening in their town. “ guess what i'm tryin' to say is, i may not look like it, but i give too much of a damn to be an indifferent killer like this goddamn universe. i'm really just like all those people, ken. more a lamb than a butcher. ” a mess of belief, fighting too hard for meaning to ever be an empty murderer.