becameundone

[becameundone]

"Shit, if subtlety's a problem, I'm gonna have to stop dying my hair bright fuckin' red", said Tomo, who was sitting on a styling chair in a manner that could only be described as precarious. He had been a regular at the salon since he'd moved here, something easily helped by the fact he was best friends with his hair stylist, and had a way of acting rather too at home here. Tomo was, admittedly, still pretty new to the world of stage acting. He was used to cameras and film, and used to editors cutting away from any distractions as needed. The whole thing had been a weird shift; he'd gone from being a former child actor with more than a decade of experience to a total rookie but, hey, at least his co-workers at the studio seemed to be pretty chill. Tomo had yet to properly take part in any productions at the Single Carrot since ditching his role as volunteered help to sign on as an actor but he'd thrown himself into the work as soon as he'd been able and the environment was doing wonders for his general peace of mind.

He leaned back in his seat, one leg crossed the other, and furrowed his brow in thought. "But, y'know, I'm a big fan of going with my gut. You spend your life pretending to be other people, you gotta find the little things that cement the fact you're you," he said, nodding to himself. Whether that part was a common struggle or just a fun little Tomo Problem, he wasn't sure nor had he paid it much consideration. "So do what you think looks good. If the audience finds it distracting...sucks to be them, right?"

coyote hair salon, april 2nd cap: 0/4 @anchoragestarters

Once a month, Hermione treated themselves to a full cosmetic refresh. They splurged on a refreshed perm, a fresh set of nails, and of course inquired thoroughly about the products displayed on the shelves surrounding them. It was the only time that they had to themselves that they weren't slaving away at something work-oriented. Because of that, they held their self-care days close to their heart, as it kept them truly sane, especially during such tumultuous times in the coastal city. While they were sat comfortably awaiting their nails to be filed, they took a glance in their peripheral at the figure beside them. "Tell me, do you think yellow or purple is a better color for spring?" they wondered. "Or maybe both? Or something different altogether. It has to be subtle, though. I don't want them to be too distracting while I'm on stage."

#« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 replies. 」 #« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 & hermione. 」 #tomo - not always helpful but always supportive ASGDFHF

[becameundone]

“Okay, I don't love that either.” Perhaps, if he were anybody else, it could well have been a freak random prank but Tomo was a public figure. People didn't prank someone like him by mistake. He pulled his own carton of cigarettes from the coat of his expensive leather jacket, popping a single stick into his mouth and lighting it. Maybe, if he went back indoors and gave up on all this, he could be doing something a lot more interesting than smoking, but he'd spent his whole life ignoring consequences in favour of a short term buzz. For once, it felt like the future was looming over him like a dark cloud, heavy with a rainfall that threatened to ruin his life beyond all repair. He'd hit rock bottom a few times over the years. He didn't want to know what existed beneath that. Taking a drag of his cigarette, he squatted down on the doorstep and ran his free hand through his hair. “They left the note at my door. Seems like a lotta borderline stalker shit for a prank," he said, head cocked to one side. "You think someone would really go through all that effort just to screw with a stranger?" A pause. Why would this stranger want to stand by and listen to all this? And, given the reputation this place had, the chances of him looking as though he was off his face were...high, pun not intended. "Sorry, this is weird but do you mind if I pick your brain a little? If I asked you to picture "The Hat Man", what comes to mind?"

Nisa hadn't even wanted to be at the House of Judgement--maybe it made her a baby but it was too scary and she didn't enjoy being overly anxious. She got plenty of that from her own brain. However, she'd also heard about the underground rave and was cautiously curious. After all, she could dance. After mentioning it to her coworkers at the studio, they had planned to meet up there and dance the night away. While it wasn't something that Nisa usually did, she was trying really hard to try new things so she'd said yes. Though it was fun for a while, Annisa eventually wanted to get a breath of fresh air so she'd stepped outside for a cigarette. As she removed a cancer stick from her pack, she looked over at the young man who addressed her. As he spoke, she furrowed her brow, not really sure how to respond at first. Hat men? Was that some sort of code for a drug thing? Shaking her head a taking a drag from her cigarette, she said "Uh... No, I haven't heard of any hat men but odds are, you pranked. Sorry."

#« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 replies. 」 #« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 & annisa. 」 #anxiety mention #drugs mention

[becameundone]

should i get my life together or should i just keep being sexy and chaotic

#« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 musings. 」 #this is a very neat and complete summary of tomo's entire Vibe :) #a thought he's probably literally had more than once...right down to the word choice bc he IS like that !!

[becameundone]

WHERE: busy street, anywhere with a lot of footfall WHEN: noon-ish (no specific date, just current) WHO: anyone! ( @anchoragestarters ) CAP: 4/4 (FULLY CAPPED)

Min wasn't trying to make a whole trip out of coming here. In fact, he'd only come to this part of town to pick something up for his cousin (who'd argued that, if Min was going to act like their car belonged to him, he might as well do something 'useful' with it) and he was quite intent on grabbing what he needed and getting back out just as quickly. As he strode out of the parking lot and rounded the corner onto the sidewalk, he removed the sunglasses he'd been wearing and moved to put them in his pocket; they were designer, a second-hand throwaway given to him by Tomo and maybe the most expensive accessory he owned. He used them for driving, mostly, because the glaring white of a cloudy morning sky tended to irritate his eyes. Min had always been a little clumsy, enough that he fumbled and dropped the glasses as he moved to put them in his pocket. Frantic eyes scanned the street, busy with people coming to and fro, headed for the various shops that lined the roads, their location not immediately obvious to him. When he did catch sight of them, it was just a moment too late.

"Wait a mi--" CRUNCH. That was the sound of the shades being crushed under the weight of another person's foot. Even from where he stood, he could see that the lens were cracked beyond repair and the frames had twisted and warped. He could swear he felt his organs deflate. "You stepped on them," said Min, his voice sounding miles away. And then, muttering to himself, he added "I mean, of course you did. What else was going to happen? Middle of a busy fucking street, my own bloody fault but---" He looked back at them, voice raised to a normal volume once more. He tried to laugh it off, not wanting to look too much like he was on the verge of losing it, but there was a discomfort behind the laughter that was difficult to ignore. "You just stepped on them?"

#« ᴍ ɪ ɴ » / 「 open. 」 #anchoragestarters #just a silly little starter to keep things simple! no pressure to match length! #NOT MY BEST WORK BUT !! I THINK U CAN TAKE THIS IN a bunch of different ways depending on ur muse's personality <3 #min's going through it once again

[becameundone]

Min often liked to come to the studio during quieter periods. Usually, this would be the later hours, after most classes had finished up for the night but before the studio had properly closed. Because this left most of studios free and empty, he could usually manage to get free use of a room for a little while. Today, however, he had blinked blearily into wakefulness at five in the morning, only to find himself incapable of drifting off again. The time spent doing nothing had made him restless and, since he had day off work anyway, he'd headed to the dance studio as soon as it had opened. He'd been expecting a quiet solo session wherein he could burn off that excess energy and kick his body into feeling as awake as his brain did. Looking at him, it'd be hard to guess that's what he'd been after; even at times like this, Min's way of dress was agonisingly particular and deliberate. (With his platform trainers and carefully applied eyeliner, he looked far more like a popstar all styled up for a staged training montage that someone getting in some early morning exercise.) He hadn't expected anyone to be in the studio when he got there and he certainly hadn't expected to walk in on them having (what Min could only describe as) an outburst. Min had only been stood in the doorway a few moments before she'd faltered, having been in the midst of deciding when it would be appropriate to announce himself. But she had noticed him before he'd ever found the opportunity. "Eh, don't work yourself up about it," he said, with a dismissive wave of one hand. Being a regular at the dance studio and having signed himself up to the higher level classes in an effort to reclaim a passion he'd almost lost, Min was familiar enough with the instructors here, Annisa included. That didn't make him any better at navigating awkward situations. "Do you need me to, er...piss off?"

where: alister's dance hall & studio / @anchoragestarters

Even though it was technically Annisa's day off, she'd gone into the studio early, before anyone else was supposed to be there, to practice the new routine she was going to start teaching this week. It was getting there but it still wasn't perfect. It was a modern routine that was really quite simple--she'd been straying into modern territory lately, though she naturally preferred the ballet part of modern dance versus everything else. She couldn't help it--after all, she was, if anything, a creature of habit, for better or worse. Things were going well until she went into a pirouette. Something so simple didn't usually throw her off but when she twisted, she felt a shooting pain stab her spine and shoot up to her neck. "Fuck!" The word had come out louder than she had meant it to, even though she was seemingly alone in the studio. God damn brittle fucking bones, she thought to herself. She was twenty-three but had the bones of a seventy-year-old--okay, maybe not a seventy-year-old but her early onset osteoporosis sure made it fucking feel like it. Frustrated, she walked away from the mirror when she suddenly realized that she wasn't alone. "Oh, sorry, I... I thought I was by myself, sorry.." Embarrassed, a pink flush colored her cheeks.

#« ᴍ ɪ ɴ » / 「 replies. 」 #« ᴍ ɪ ɴ » / 「 & annisa. 」 #hope you don't mind me throwing out a reply to this!! min's a regular at the studio so it seemed like a good call >:)

[becameundone]

There were plenty of people who might have considered that blindly posing a question as strange as Tomo's to somebody who had last seen you having what might be best described as a nervous breakdown in the middle of a convenience store to be a particularly cruel twist of fate. Fortunately, Tomo was not plenty of people. It was hard to get hung up on these sorts of things when there were published photos out there of you doing much worse and looking far less graceful, all courtesy of the good ol' paps. As weird as it felt to admit it to himself, he felt more at peace knowing Cyrek had seen what he had. Tomo had always struggled with vulnerability, having had it drilled into him from a young age that exploitation was lurking around every corner. He'd even let his guard down a few times. Having already crossed that hurdle with Cyrek meant that Tomo wouldn't have to try so hard to pretend he wasn't a little freaked out by the mystery clinging to him like his own shadow. Besides, even ignoring all that, it probably helped to run into someone he knew in a place like this; he wouldn't have blamed a stranger for assuming he was on tripping hard. Based on Cyrek's sleep paralysis demon theory, the Hat Man sounded as though he'd be right at home in some acid-induced nightmare. “Specific's...not the word I'd use,” said Tomo, scrunching up his face in frustration. 'Specific' was, in fact, the exact word he'd use if he wanted to describe something that was the precise opposite of that fucking note. “Whoever wrote it told me I had to come here and find 'The Hat Man'.” This latter two words were punctuated with a healthy dose of finger quotes.

The suggestion of supernatural intervention hidden behind Cyrek's words didn't seem to faze Tomo much, if he picked up on them at all outside of the talk of shadow people. It wasn't as though he was unfamiliar with superstitions as a whole; he'd spent enough of his childhood in Japan to have absorbed all sorts of strange urban myths and ghost stories, but he could still accept he was clueless about this. “It's not like I haven't been around, I've spent months at a time in places way more backwater than this,” Tomo said with a shrug. “But I also think that ignoring the locals because you've convinced yourself you know best is for dicks.” He flashed a quick and playful grin, the kind that said and I promise I'm not a dick, pairing it all with a wink. Somehow, he mustered up enough self-restraint not to throw up a peace sign as well. Time and place. "You've got yourself a deal," said Tomo, as he moved towards the door to the underground club, turning quick on his heel just inches from the threshold. "Just don't order anything too fancy just because you can." With that, he nudged the door open with his elbow and slipped into the hectic cacophony of the nightclub. The night was too young yet for it to be teeming with bodies but the rave itself seemed to be in full swing. You might not be blamed for wandering through those doors and assuming the place had been full only moments ago, only for the place to have been raptured by some strange malevolent force. It was obvious from Tomo's every movement, the casual sway in his step, the confident but careless way he held his shoulders, that he was in his element in a place like this. When he finally took a seat at the bar, it was at a far, secluded end of it, kept away from eavesdropping ears. There wasn't much chance of them being overheard, not over the throbbing pulse of the trance soundtrack flooding the air, but covert chit-chat was one of the few things towards which Tomo preferred to take a better safe than sorry approach. From here, the ball was squarely in Cyrek's park; if it meant solving this twisted fucking riddle, he'd do whatever he was told.

Cyrek didn't hang about raves so frequently, anymore. Illness was a bellipotent opponent, one he couldn't bite or scratch or spit on, and getting shit-faced the day after his birthday and practically rendered immobile in bed with a white-hot stomach was pushing the limits. He wasn't so dull as the monotony of a daily routine might make out ( of course, his daring appearance screamed the message he desired when the traditional stay-at-home mums saw him walk into PTA meetings with his daughters, ) and he could be occasionally scouted outside his usual haunts — there was reason he was at the House of Judgement. Bluntly put: it was the one fucking way he could get away from the Bastards. ( No, really, he thought if he had to entangle himself in one more discussion about what to do next, he was going to clasp his hands against his head and SCREAM until they shut the fuck up. )

However, he was playing it safe in courtesy of his date, not too many drinks deep and perpetually disinterested in tripping, thus he was able to stick to snacking off the bag of some cannabis Gusher knock-offs sequestered in Evren's clutch. A cigarette held in two fingers dusted against the skin of his inner wrist as he approached the stairs for the basement, slowing down as a peculiar redhead glissaded into his path. Oh. It was the 7-11 Shitter. No, he hadn't literally shat himself in front of a good five or ten people, but he'd sort of shit himself mentally with an audience. Gaunt cheeks inverted inward when his tongue pressed against the corner of his mouth, processing from one language to another internally, and he shook his head. "Sounds like one of those shadow people. Y'know, like when you fall asleep and see them over your bed." It wasn't implicitly embedded into his own upbringing, aside the spoils of Greek mythology that were practically ceaseless. His thumbs looped around his suspenders hanging down toward his knees, uselessly clipped to his plaid punk pants, cocking his head inquisitively. "What's the note got to say? Anythin' specific?"

Cyrek turned his head, peering down the stairs, where he could feel the vibrations of the music coursing underneath his feet. Smeared pink and blue makeup blended in with the niche corners of darkness and flickering lights emanating from the scare house's floor level. "Look, uh," a hunch was telling him the other was unaccustomed to the oddities of Alaska, "Anchorage isn't much like the cities." Some things, you just knew to avoid. Secondary instinct. One foot retreated to the stair beneath him, lifting his chin and arching his brow, not as foothot to move from the spot as the accoster. A bony index finger pointed to him, before tangling them in the wiry spikes of his hair, the punk offered, "Buy me a drink and I'll help you out."

#« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 replies. 」 #« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 & cyrek. 」 #if the first half of this makes more sense / is better paced than the second half pls have mercy on me GSGDGDGD #drugs mention

[becameundone]

“Sorry, that's all I've got,” said Tomo, throwing his arms up in an exaggerated shrug. “Guess the freak stalking me didn't think I'd earned the full character sketch.” At that brief mention of character sketches and the memory it evoked of all the scripts he'd read in his life, he briefly wondered if the stalker in question was fucking with him in a very specific personal way, and if the Hat Man was some role for Tomo to discover within himself and play; he did not like this idea one bit. “Hat men was probably the wrong way to put it. The Hat Man. That's what it said.” He wasn't entirely certain what difference this made, although he was certain there was indeed a difference. As for the note, Tomo hadn't entirely made his mind up about the exact nature of it. “It could be a threat,” he said, “But it could just as easily be a warning. I just think, either way, I'm a little screwed if I don't figure this out.” Then, he opened his palm to reveal the keyring hanging from his index finger. It was a small keyring, barely lit in the dark glow of the waiting room, its features as shrouded in shadow as Tomo's own. It was Peppy the Parrot, the mascot of a pizzeria with its own bizarre set of rumours surrounding it. Tomo had been hoping that, failing any answers on the Hat Man front, he might find someone who knew a little about this. “Does this mean anything to you? And what about the initials MJ?"

CONSIDERING THEY SPENT MOST OF THEIR FREE TIME sticking their nose into all things spooky and unexplained, it would surprising to just about no one that Zeliha had an interest in all things horror, which was exactly how they had themselves at the cartoonish haunt even if it was practically as far from Halloween as one could get. In their humble opinion, the winter holiday season lasted much too long and the one dedicated to spookiness not long enough. Besides, they were almost certain whatever overarching story that the House of Judgement had had changed since the last time the investigator had visited, so they weren't bound to get bored. Snapping close their vintage Chanel clutch after paying the entrance fee, they tucked it under their arm, appreciating the bloody decorations before their attention was caught with the questions. "Hat men? You're going to have to be a little more descriptive than just a piece of clothing. There's practically half the people outside have hats on with this damn Alaskan winter." They swiped some of the now shorter brunette locks away from their face. "Or is this someone related to the theme of this place? Hat men is certainly an interesting direction to go in, but...." Zeliha's curiosity already had them attentive, however, especially after more was shared. The little bit that continued to trickle out about the Willow situation meant they were looking for any more details, even if they were found in unexpected places. "Was it a threatening note?"

#« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 replies. 」 #« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 & zeliha. 」

[becameundone]

Min understood exactly what they were talking about. However, he had gotten fairly used to keeping a lot of interests to himself, either out of a stark concern they'd ruin some image he'd built for himself or out of an even keener awareness that he wasn't always very good at shutting up once he got started on something. “Mm, like the Buster Sword…no way Cloud would be able to hold that thing in real life. It's like five foot six and he's---” Do not tell someone you just met that Cloud Strife, protagonist of Final Fantasy VII, is exactly five foot seven. “Not tall. Not a large man.” At some point, maybe a year ago, he might have just agreed that things that couldn't be real were much more fascinating but it had only been a couple months since a man was killed by a giant plasticine skeleton, or so everybody said. It turned out reality was pretty fucked up too. Still, the vague memory of that night suddenly set off a spark in Min's mind and he realised he'd seen this person before; he'd voted for the Zelda costumes, hadn't he?

“Oh, uh, yeah. Sure,” he said, with an awkwardness that clashed horribly with his outfit. The offer took Min by surprise. He'd come here alone and had half-expected to spend most of the day wandering around aimlessly by himself. Any attempts to drag his cousin along had fallen flat on their faces so he'd been forced to come alone. Of course, he'd usually turn to Tomo at times like these but he'd skipped town at the start of the month; he'd dropped by Min's place in the dead of the night and announced he was spending Christmas out of town, before giving Min one long hug and then vanishing into the snow. It had felt like the first time they'd met, where Tomo had come into Min's life and disappeared in an instant, leaving Min feeling as though the whole thing had been some strange dream. As though Tomo were some strange kind of guardian angel. “Actually, you know what? Do you think they sell any Turkish Delight here?” he asked, looking about himself. He knew the comment was a joke but, now it had been mentioned, he honestly kind of wanted some and he couldn't help but feel it would be remiss to do a whole Narnia event and skimp on the Turkish Delight. “If you see a stall on the way to the zoo, let me know and then we'll have ourselves a deal, yeah? Until then, I'll stick around away. Out of good faith and all that.” This part was spoken with a playful smile, very much the look of someone enjoying their impromptu role. Someone who was forgetting his usual embarrassment in the face of a stranger who wouldn't pass judgement.

It's so dramatic. Shaky set of eyes reflected in the scintillating glint bouncing off the blade, disturbed solely by the dancing hunger of the flame as Duck-young held to the majestic entity of the blade. Swords must have souls — or surely, such an object did when hard labor was poured into creating it. "It's more fun to think of that stuff in video games than building the muscle in real life to wield it, if that makes sense," he said thoughtfully, using his free hand to gesticulate as he was speaking, "There's a sense of wonder from things you can't do like pulling the Master Sword out of the stone in Ocarina of Time, know what I mean?" Unlike carney trickery, a broadsword would live up to its grandiose appearance. The mallets for testing your strength in Madame Irene's had their tourist traps for making money, albeit entertaining to study up-and-coming tough guys swinging it and winning no prizes. Unbothered by the prior toiling over words, he was grateful his idle whimsies weren't unappreciated.

The whiteness of steam curling from his breaths a stark contrast of the engulfing orange flames, he smiled, simpering cheekily, "My partner says I'm in this weird combination of a bird watching phase and a sword phase. But you know, I think everyone needs to go through a sword phase in their lifetime. For the hell of it." The execution of speech was cleanly, curbing the covert southern accent in accompaniment of perfect strangers — you don't sound professional, academic. Clasping onto the back of his neck and soothing a twinging knot in a muscle there, he cast his eyes over his shoulder, fingers bowing into his son's outfit tighter to prevent him from clumsily crawling onto his shoulders. In spite of contention surrounding the holiday come to pass, Duck-young wasn't hard-pressed to believe a stranger at a Renaissance Faire possessed naught but the same curiosity as he. "Do you wanna walk around with me? My partner and their best friend kinda went off on their own, and this guy's not gonna wait to see the petting zoo. We could look at the other shoppes," he offered the White Witch, smirking, "Make a deal with you for a few pieces of Turkish Delight?"

#« ᴍ ɪ ɴ » / 「 replies. 」 #« ᴍ ɪ ɴ » / 「 & dustin. 」 #this is NOT my finest work SHHDHD i feel like i didn't really move things a lot much but #min's awkwardness took over :')

[becameundone]

“No problem, that'll have to be long enough,” said Tomo, with an easy grin. He was bright despite the way he looked, the distressed fashion and the shagily-cut shock-red hair giving him the look of some playboy rockstar than anybody to be immediately trusted. However, he was conscious of his own appearance, as much as he was conscious of her nerves, and did his best to keep a resonable distance between them both. “Hey, stay closer to the wall, okay?” he added quickly, under his breath. “Safer that way.” She was out of place here, perhaps even out of depth, and that was the sort of thing that could put a spotlight on someone. Tomo wasn't always sure how things worked in Anchorage but, in all his years of clubbing, he'd interrupted enough men's attempts at harassment to have developed a natural sort of vigilance about it. “But don't let that panic you, as long as we're talking, nobody's gonna pay you any attention, okay?”

He shook his head, as though shaking his own thoughts back into place, and ran a hand through the strands of red fringe that fallen into his eyes to brush them aside again. “I don't think they're characters here,” he said, lips pursed in thought. “But I don't really come here for the scare house. Between you and me, all this ghost stuff gives me the creeps.” It was pretty impressive, really, how many times he'd come to this place and how little he still knew about the main business for which it was known. Did someone threaten you? The upsetting part of it all was that Tomo wasn't even sure what the answer to that question was; everything had been so vague and, even now, he felt as though he was stumbling in the dark, trying to grasp at any surface he could. This was not the first time he'd been sent letters from a strange and, although he'd been trying to keep from drawing any comparisons for fear it'd unearth the dread he'd buried back in Tokyo, this still felt very different. The letters from the stalker had all been about Tomo, about what he'd been doing and where he'd been. They had been a warning too, but whoever sent this letter clearly had something in mind beyond cultivating a twisted parasocial relationship. “Y'know what? I think they might be threatening me,” he laughed, leaning against the wall with one hand, his weight pressed on his palm and one leg crossed over the other. “They told me to look for 'The Hat Man' but not to run out of time. Didn't even tell me how long I had. Pretty scary, right?”

Bernadette wasn't exactly a haunted house enthusiast (or a fan of underground raves, for that matter). By all accounts, she was a homebody and a creature of habit, perfectly content sticking to her routines day in and day out. She preferred when things were within her control, when she could reliably predict the outcome of her day, so the idea of voluntarily being frightened by unknown figures lurking around every corner seemed downright absurd to the artist. No, her trip to the House of Judgment wasn't one made for the love of the haunts beyond its walls, it was simply the strange meeting place that her sister had decided on prior to their lunch plans, merely because it was on the way to their destination. She'd considered stubbornly remaining outside the building, unwilling to deal with whatever sensory overload would no doubt greet her if she ventured inside, but the temperature demanded a warm reprieve. It seemed that her years away from home had dulled her defenses against the Alaskan weather after all.

Stepping through the threshold with an abundance of caution, Bernie barely had time to adjust to her surroundings before being approached by a vaguely familiar figure. She recognized the person that had spoken as an acquaintance of her brother, but she knew little else about him. "I have until my sister gets here, however long that'll be," she remarked in a matter-of-fact tone, sparing a glance down at her dainty gold wristwatch. "What is it?" But even despite the odd backdrop around them, Bernadette couldn't have predicted the question that came out of Tomo's mouth. "Hat men? Are those... characters in here? I'm not really a regular, so I wouldn't know." However, the mention of a note got her attention. "Wait, did someone threaten you or something?" she asked, not even bothering to lower her voice. Despite her years away, Bernadette was all too aware of the grim happenings and rumors that swirled around her hometown. Whether or not she believed all of them was another subject entirely.

#« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 replies. 」 #« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 & bernadette. 」 #SHDHSHS SHE DOESN'T EVEN have to be useful bc apparently tomo's just gonna keep blabbing

[becameundone]

“Lucky,” Min said with a click of the tongue, clearly oblivious to the momentary awkwardness his remark might have sparked. “If this place really is an escape from all the blood and gore and horror, anyway. I work at the salon so I hear a lot.” Maybe it wasn't as obvious as he thought but Min was inclined to believe that the image of a salon as a breeding ground for gossip was a universal one and that he wouldn't have to expand too much on what that meant. “Apparently, that also covers murders and all the rest.” For what is worth, Min had never been a particularly good stylist for gossip; while plenty of customers favoured a stylist who had been blessed with the gift of the gab, as it were, Min had never been especially chatty. He could talk, sure, and at length but small talk was a hurdle over which he was often bound to stumble. Maybe that was was showing here too.

Min finally stepped away from where he'd awkwardly stood aside and moved to follow her into the rest of the gallery; he supposed that much should have been obvious and that standing listlessly in the doorway wasn't going to get him very far. "Oh, you do?" asked Min, a little surprised by the speed with which she had answered. It was not because he thought it was a particularly obscure request but there was a certain relief to be found in getting the answers you needed write away. It was impressive too; it's nice to know when you're in good hands. "Okay then, I'll trust in your knowledge and expertise. I'm Min, by the way." He wasn't sure if a guide really needed his name in return but it seemed like the polite thing to do. Besides, this didn't exactly feel like an ordinary museum tour. "What sort of thing would you be looking for if you wandered into a place like this? If you don't mind the nosiness."

Murphy was an ever-evolving thing, as hopefully most were, which inherently meant words could be misconstrued or, more commonly, her tone being perceived as off-putting. No matter how much tinsel she adorned herself in, this would be a consistent character flaw. She had learned better now how to respond whenever she was reminded of this fault. "You're — right, yeah," she conceded, a warm chuckle bubbling from her lips as she rested her intertwined fingers in front of her. "Normally I'm not out and about like this, if we're being honest. They like keeping me locked up in the back room." An exaggeration, really, as she had preferred straying further from the patrons so she could be more attentive over the pieces brought in.

Cocking her head sideways at his words, a knowing smile formed in the corner of her mouth and she nodded along. "Cathartic. I think I have the perfect place for you. Come, follow me," she said, sweeping an arm ahead that motioned to the rest of the gallery. "I'm Murphy, by the way. I'll be your guide for today."

#« ᴍ ɪ ɴ » / 「 replies. 」 #« ᴍ ɪ ɴ » / 「 & murphy. 」

[becameundone]

WHERE: the house of judgement WHEN: late february, early evening (around 4-5pm) WHO: anyone! ( @anchoragestarters ) CAP: 3/4

Tomo had come to try and scope the place out but, for all his efforts, he couldn't glean anything more specific from the building's exterior than its general spooky vibe. He'd been here before but only for the raves in the basement (and he'd been off his face for most of those so the memories were a little hazy and unhelpful). Although he'd been hoping to breeze past the House of Judgements and naturally come upon the answers he'd been looking for without having to get into anything tricky or complicated, it was becoming increasingly clear he'd have to step inside and get a better look. Truth be told, Tomo had wanted to ignore the bag that had showed up at his door in November. He'd even run off back to LA over December and spent half of January gallivanting about NYC but the note's final words still loomed over him, eating away at his peace of mind; WTVR U DO, DON’T RUN OUT OF TIME.

He'd been stood in the dimly-lit foyer, leant back against the wall and swinging the parrot keyring that had accompanied the note around in circles, the ring itself being spun around his finger, until somebody new finally came in through the entrance. Whether they were an employee in plain clothes, coming to start their shift, or just a regular customer, Tomo had no clue but he didn't feel like being picky either. "Hey, you got a minute?" he said, pushing himself off the wall with one hand, and sliding in front of his would be interviewee. If nothing else, years in the spotlight had taught him how to command attention. "You haven't heard of any...uh, hat men...have you?" He enunciated the name like the words were foreign to him. "I know how that sounds but I got this weird note saying and...okay, look, I'm not gonna go into but honestly? I'm just trying to make sure I'm not being pranked by some goth theatre kids."

#« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 open. 」 #anchoragestarters #drugs mention #i've been meaning to get this written up for a little while but HSHDHD i wanted to do smth with this part of the new year plot post! #throwing this out just before the plot drop so hopefully i'm not disrupting anything with this! <3 admins pls lmk! #(also i'm still working through the closed starters i owe! sorry for the wait hehe)

[becameundone]

There were plenty of words you could use to describe Tomo Katsumura and, for better or for worse, nosy was up there in the top part of the list. This meant that, when he realised he'd caught the eye of some sketchy guy with a notebook, it wasn't a simple matter of him shrugging it off and moving on. To just assume this guy was writing about Tomo might have seemed an abrupt leap in logic but, if anything, having a total stranger write about him without his consent or knowledge was kind of old hat; Tomo's named had filled the pockets of many a gossip columnist and he was more than used to it. This trip through the park had been little more than the aimless detour of a restless man with nothing better, and this owed to the total distraction that had taken him in the moments immediately before, to do but this? This was far more intriguing.

Tomo dropped into a low squat in front of the bench, with such haste that his thick faux fur-lined coat to slipped from one shoulder, and half-leaned in, as though it might help him snatch a quick look at the content of the notebook's pages. No such luck. "You should be careful, " he said, just abruptly, with a playful little smile dancing across his lips, "A lotta people might not appreciate this sorta thing. It's, like, a crossing of their boundaries or whatever." He tugged his thick jacket back up over his shoulder, the skin left bare by the sleeve of his tank top having started to nip in the cold air. "Sooo, what are you jotting down in there? Juicy goss? Y'gonna spread some wild rumours around?" It might have sounded like an accusation but, from the way Tomo was positioned, one sharp elbow propped up on his knee and his chin in his palm, it was clear to anyone that this was pure honest intrigue. (What could he say? He liked a little bit of drama.)

Location: Park Bench Time: Noon, 24 February Cap: ♾️ @anchoragestarters

Sitting back against a bench, one he usually frequented, Bryn kept an eye on a building where important town figures often went in and out of regularly. Assigning many of them to be aliens, but not all of them. Just a few, actually. Or he probably just didn't like many important figures around town. But he was sure it was because they were aliens. They had to be. Lifting a candy sucker to his mouth, opened it, and laid the candy on his tongue before closing his mouth around the sticks of it, his eyes narrowing as he watched a few figures leave the building, "Bird…. Lizard…" Pausing as his eyes followed a female for some time, "Grey." He whispered just as lowly as the two before. Taking up his journal and wrote down the descriptions and speculations he had on the people he was observing. Then, he spots someone else nearing him, not so much paying any attention to him at the moment. But definitely worthy of writing about, so he scribbled some more words into his journal.

#« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 replies. 」 #« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 & bryn. 」 #i hope this works okay for you!! <3 c: #curiosity killed the tomo or smth like that

[becameundone]

“All I said was that I wasn't stupid,” Min said, shrugging. “But if the shoe fits.” It was a jab obviously made in jest and his playful tone should have suggested as such, if the way he stuck out his tongue at her didn't. Now, to Min's mind, gutsy was just another word for stupid, with the sole thing setting the two ideas apart being whether or not you succeeded at the end of it. Min wasn't sure he had succeeded at very much but it was hard to say he'd failed either. Where did that leave him? “Then maybe I'm insane for coming here all the way from London, of all places,” said Min, with a slow, emphatic shrug. “Well, I mean, you're here so it's not all bad but it's hardly a step up in the world.” Yet the closer to ground he remained, the softer the fall would be. He'd been chased all his life by a fear of failure so great that it had caused him to stumble at every hurdle, like a self-fulfilling prophecy. He dressed up nicely and stood tall so as to give the impression of certain confidence but he wasn't someone with a whole lot of pride in himself. Anyway, he was no at accepting compliments that weren't purely superficial so, to save himself the embarrassment, he moved on.

Min finally stood up straight, moving to act rather than lounge around offering sarcastic remarks. He looked about himself, as though the ideal hiding place would just spontaneously reveal itself somehow. They couldn't leave it out anywhere too open because that was a theft risk; the chances of it actually happen, particularly without anyone noticing, weren't high but anything above impossible was best avoided. Even leaving it in the usual private places for staff seemed difficult. It didn't seem like Ava wanted anybody else asking questions, not from the way she'd conspiratorially revealed the bag to Min. He took a few trips up and down the main room of the salon before finally giving up right in the centre “I could put it inside my bag?” he offered, finally, as he turned to face Ava. “I don't know if it'll fit but we could give it a go?” This had actually been his very first idea but, for whatever reason, he felt a little strange about anyone seeing the contents of his work bag. He always felt the contents of a person's bag told a story, at least if you thought about it long enough. Although Ava likely had no way of knowing this, Min was making quite the sacrifice for her. (Or, maybe, just maybe, this was more of his usual overthinking.) He hurried off to retrieve his bag from its proper place and returned with a decently-sized leather backpack, which he dropped down on the counter in front of Ava. “See if you can cram it in.”

Narrowing misty brown eyes in the direction of her fellow hairdresser, the brunette was caught between feeling childishly desperate to be rescued from her little financial blunder and stubbornly defending her thoughtless actions—otherwise known as The Ballad of Ava Adler, a song she knew by heart. "Hey, I'm not stupid! Okay, so maaaybe this wasn't the smartest decision ever... which would imply some stupidity on my part. But you're not helping either," she reiterated through gritted teeth, her look of irritation quickly replaced with a overly dramatic pout to get him on her side. For as much as they bickered and playfully tugged on each other's nerves throughout their long days at the salon, Min was someone that Ava trusted wholeheartedly. And even though she was well aware that her impulsive actions often stressed him out (a fact that she occasionally delighted in), it always made her feel better to rant to him about her woes—and right now, she needed some reassurance that everything would be okay.

"I don't think moving to another country's stupid. If you ask me, it's gutsy. I've never lived anywhere other than this town. After over two decades, it's enough to drive anyone insane." She grumbled out the last part, though her initial statement had been uncharacteristically sincere, her gaze softening to begrudgingly confirm her admiration for the dancer. "Nope... sadly, I charged this expensive little beauty to my personal card. Which is probably a good thing if I want to remain employed," she sighed, eyeing the leather temptress in question, still nestled on her station chair. In her panic to seek counsel from her more level-headed co-worker, in a place that felt like home to both of them, Ava hadn't even considered the potential dangers of bringing such a nice purse into an establishment full of chemicals. "Ohmygod, what was I thinking?" she wailed. Clearly, she hadn't been thinking. Snatching up the bag by its handle, she turned to Min in a panic. "Is there anywhere I can hide this until closing?"

#« ᴍ ɪ ɴ » / 「 replies. 」 #« ᴍ ɪ ɴ » / 「 & ava. 」 #adfsfsdsd them just bickering every chance they get #now THAT is real friendship

[becameundone]

Min watched Atticus with narrowed eyes and, in a low voice, he hissed, “There is nothing wrong with my boots.” Too drunk to process Atticus' surprise at what he'd said before or to even consider that Atticus was too drunk to talk sense himself, Min had honed in on exactly what mattered to him most. Whether you commented on his looks or his outfit, you were certain to hit a nerve but they were crucially different nerves. (No, it was not relevant that, besides the shoes, he'd never wear any part of this outfit again, all on accounts of its excessive brownness.) “These platform boots are fucking hot and I look great in them. And. And. And---” He was struggling to get the words out without stumbling on them. “My grandma doesn't even like how I dress!” he said, dropping the whisper for a half-wail, and burying his face in his palms. “She said I dress like a girl. A slutty girl.” Granted, this was an old Catholic woman's opinion of both gender and what could be classed as promiscuous but Min was in no state to rationalise right now. He'd thrust his face into his hands with such force that he'd nearly lost his balance and tripped over his own feet. Thankfully, the bartop was there to catch his fall. Atticus' further questions about Min's state fell on deaf ears, his thoughts much too muddy for him to pick apart the words.

Finally lifting his head, in spite of how heavy it felt, Min followed Atticus' gaze to the bartender. He brushed his hair out of his eyes, as though it'd help him get a better look If a sober Min could have seen himself in a mirror right now, he would have blanched at the sight of dishevelled hair, smudged lipstick and reddened eyes. It was likely obvious to anyone else at the bar that Min was not a drinker. He stared at the bartender just a few moments too long, features awash with dizzy disbelief, before squeezing his eyes closed. He could barely focus on the bartender's face long enough to figure out how attractive he may or may not have been but Atticus said he was ugly and Min was inclined to trust him. “I have – uh, I – I have standards, Atticus,” said Min. Then, his lip quivered and the waterworks were threatening to start. He flopped down, sitting down on the floor with his back against the bar counter and one leg half-kicked into the air. Graceful. “You don't have to make fun of me for being single!”

(Our thoughts go out to the bartender, whose feelings may or may not have been hurt by the suggestion that even thinking of dating him is some manner of sick joke.)

Are you saying I'm ugly...?

Somewhere in the silver lining of sheer perplexity, the unfolding scuffle could bear witness to a new species of two guys walk into a bar jokes that the sycophant's dry humor couldn't process. Atticus practically choked on the strings of surprise — a hacking sound accompanied with the shutters closing on his windpipe, exclaiming in return, "What?!" Far too intoxicated to lose composure and analyze his prior remarks, the blonde thrust an accusatory finger in Min's direction. "You said that, not me! Why did you choose boots that came out of your grandmother's closet if you didn't want them to think that?"

Min was clutching at his mouth like a swooning Victorian woman, and with an agape mouth, he was inching toward the alcohol-induced fear that Minwoo would drop on a dime. "Why are you holding your chest like that? Are you having a heart attack? Does your left arm feel floppy?" Language barrier was beginning to prove an obstacle on poor word choice, and slurred syllables smudging a French accent arguably butchered everything he was saying — by now, he'd potentially bordered the legal limit of drinks one could have without camping next to a loo tomorrow. ( It was nice to escape the pressures of one's own head for evanescence, but his skin had started inexplicably crawling around a half hour ago. ) Their bickering curtailed by the burbling of guests and an irksome bassline raking through the nettles of amplifiers, he stumbled on his next query, "Wait... wait... aguente —" Both hands thrown up in the air and crossing together in an imaginary x for a timeout, grey hues wobbled between the bartender and Min, then, "Are... are you dating that guy?" His voice dropped, a hand hovering to blinker his mouth from the aforementioned host's bartender, and scarcely managing to shield the poor sod from his brickbat. "He's ugly, though...? And I heard he has garden gnomes living in his house because — because — he's... bad at paying taxes."

#« ᴍ ɪ ɴ » / 「 replies. 」 #« ᴍ ɪ ɴ » / 「 & atticus. 」 #alcohol tw #psychosis tw #this is just an endless cycle of min getting upset and then forgetting why he was upsetting and then finding smth new to be upset about #and i respect it

[becameundone]

Tomo was thrust, spluttering, into wakefulness by a feeling like a battering ram to the chest. Before he could get his bearings or even let his eyes adjust to the light, his face was brushed by something soft and warm and remarkably...cat-like. Oh, right. With a relieved sigh, he reached out and scratched Strozzi under the chin. He'd been aware enough of a shadow hanging over him that it didn't shock him when Atticus spoke but all he offered by way of response was a lazy murmuring sound. He was still half-asleep, it would take a good minute before he was able to answer anything that required any thought. He pulled himself up into a sitting position, the blanket that had been draped over him falling from his shoulders and into a heap on his lap. He would not remember that he'd slept shirtless for another minute or so, at which point it would be too late to do anything about it. He accepted the coffee, uttering a quick and breathy 'ah, thank you', but before he could drink it, Atticus had gotten in close. It startled Tomo but, instead of jumping, he burst out laughing and almost spilled his drink in the process. He balanced the cup in his grasp at just the last moment and plucked the cat whisker from his mouth. “How the fuck did you even notice that?” He turned to Strozzi again, with a grin, and asked, “Did you do that?”

At least all that had woken him up.

Atticus' previous question, however, still lingered. Tomo took another gulp of coffee before leaning over to the coffee table, placing the paper cup down on a coaster. Running a hand through his unstyled mess of cherry-red bed hair, he sunk into the back of the couch. He'd been trying to avoid this conversation; not because he didn't want to have it or because he wanted to take advantage of Atticus' kindness but simply because he didn't like being so open about these things. Tomo was a bit of a funny contradiction; he could overshare as though his life depended on it, until it was something actually raw and important. A person could easily feel they knew Tomo inside out, only to realise they'd barely cracked the surface. He wasn't good with vulnerability and, since the total fucking disaster that was the Halloween party had passed on by, he'd felt nothing but vulnerable. And, now, there'd been some stranger showing up at his door, leaving cryptic clues about things he barely understood.

“I've been talking to people, moving some money around and to see if I can just stay in a hotel for a little bit,” he said. “Might even talk to the agency about them putting me up somewhere for a while. I don't want to overstay my welcome.” At this point, Tomo didn't care where he wound up, he just wanted to stay away from his own apartment at all costs. He knew the feeling would fade, maybe after a month or two, but he didn't feel safe there any more. It was as though the whole place had been choked out with toxic gas. The fact that someone knew where he lived had shaken him, unearthed an avalanche of thoughts and feelings he thought he'd buried deep down where he could forget them. “Actually, I'm thinking of going back to LA over Christmas,” he said, busying restless hands with the cat. “Might it with my Aunt and her in-laws. They're always inviting me but it's been a while since I had the time to show my face.” He crossed his legs over each other and moved up to one end of the couch, just in case Atticus felt like sitting down next to him. His eyes travelled across the room to a nearby clock; it was late morning and, although he'd barely slept at all, it still seemed like he had slept in. “I just don't feel like me right now. Is that weird?”

@becameundone ; tomo ; the marionette, november 27th, 2023

Atticus stood ominously over the slumbering figure that had been squatting on his sofa for the past five days ( almost in full, ) furrowed brows assessing the peculiar sight that was Tomo in all his glory. Then, unceremoniously, the cat in his hands launched itself onto the redhead's chest — Strozzi in all her wobbly stride butting her head against the actor's cheek. "Kaliméra. Are you planning to stay here forever?" The blonde sybarite admittedly wouldn't have any use in charging him for rent, if the answer were yes in some unfathomable nightmare he wouldn't be able to wake up from — well, that was an exaggeration. He could think of worse people to share the luxurious apartment with than a friend, and he could perhaps clear the art supplies and Micah's old podcasting gear out of the spare bedroom if it came down to it.

"Coffee." Atticus turned away to pluck the designated cup out of the caddy and offer it to the sorry sod down on his luck, and for once, he'd made an effort to scrawl the order he was familiar with down on a note pad before leaving the apartment. Memory was a fuzzy and unreliable machinery of one plagued with a tireless minesweeper residing in the cobwebbed corners of his brain, but occasionally, he had his moments. Cognitive deficits were considerably less after years of medicating — however, it didn't completely dissipate the waves of brain fog and disjointed thoughts. Sifting through them was, at times, like rooting through papers at his desk now that the creature comfort of an Excel spreadsheet was unavailable to him, and he'd decked out the clunky old Windows '99 from Micah's storage unit, mostly for the purpose of slathering it in sticky notes. "...You have something on your face." In spite of being the beholder of immaculate eyesight of the triplets, he leaned in, the scrunch of every feature far more gravitas than the sentence called for. "You have a cat whisker sticking out of your mouth, mon ami."

#« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 replies. 」 #« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 & atticus. 」 #ASDFGH IF THIS DOESN'T MAKE 100% SENSE I'M SORRY I HAD TO GET IT OUT BEFORE 2AM <////3 #stalking mention #(implied?) #implied paranoia #i think this ended up more serious than i first planned but oh well tomo's all over the place #WHAT'S NEW !!

[becameundone]

The gallery had been so quiet upon his immediate entry that he'd half-assume it to be totally deserted. It would have been surprising but not much of a shock, not with the way things had been around Anchorage lately. The Chinchilla Café still stood abandoned, as though the owners had been wiped off the face of the Earth the day the internet started failing. A voice cutting through the silence was almost enough to make him jump but common sense took control just in time. Min's brows raised at the mention of blood and gore. Somehow, despite everything, Min had avoided seeing anything too unpleasant. At the Halloween party, he'd gotten drunk enough to trip over and knock himself out right before any of the carnage so he'd been forced to rely on second-hand reports. He was best friend with the damn host and he'd still come out of it utterly clueless. "If you work here and you're using that as a greeting," said Min, his tone just vaguely teasing but not unkind, "Are you really sure it gets people's minds off of all the gore?"

He stepped past her and stopped in front of a poster for some exhibit that was close to finishing. His eyes scanned the words but his mind took none of it in. Min had come here because he'd felt restless but he'd never been very good at putting words to that feeling. He looked back at her over his shoulder and said, simply, "I want to see something cathartic."

the hanging arts gallery, february 1st open: 0 / 4 ! @anchoragestarters

The halls of the gallery were quieter than what Murphy was acclimated to since returning. Normally, she would have struck up no protest about this development — if it weren't for the fact people suffered for it to occur. Now the sounds of her boots echoing throughout the empty corridors was a haunting chorus that beckoned unease everywhere she stepped. It felt, in rare instances, that she could even hear the rush of blood in her ears tunneling through her nervous system as she wandered aimlessly. She contemplated clocking out early and welcoming herself to the sweet embrace of her apartment; turning up the dial on the TV all the way and letting the sound of bickering newlyweds play as background noise while she busied herself at her easel. Then she heard the delightful noise of a door creaking open and, for once in her life, leapt at the opportunity to answer the call that was summoning her from what felt like an exile from the rest of society.

"Welcome," she announced, voice reverberating off the marbled floors as she plastered as amicable a smile as she could produce naturally. "Uh. Hoping to get away from all the shit — uh, stuff out there?" she corrected herself swiftly. Months away had diluted her common sense when it concerned guests. "If so, I can give you a tour. We've got a few new pieces that've just come in. Really phenomenal. Will totally get your mind off the blood and gore."

#« ᴍ ɪ ɴ » / 「 replies. 」 #« ᴍ ɪ ɴ » / 「 & murphy. 」 #i hope this works okay for you!! he's a lil dramatic :'|

[becameundone]

There'd been a lot weighing on Tomo's psyche the past few months; the absolute fucking disaster that was his Halloween party, the hypothermia, the mysterious bag dumped at his apartment door and a weird note telling him to go off in search of some freak called the Hat Man were among just a few of the things that had rattled him. He needed distractions, in any form offered to him. And that's why how he'd ended up in the bowling alley. Thankfully, he'd always been pretty good at finding his place in gatherings, being something of a natural social butterfly, and that had never been something a little underlying paranoia could take from him.

Without any further pushing, Tomo jumped up off the padded bench and hopped over to the automatic scoring terminal. "Might as well, right?" he said, leaning his elbows against the little computer's table with a casual grin. "No use in anyone paying to get in here and not use any of the rounds, right? You got any preferences for how we set this up?" As for himself, Tomo was happy enough with whatever. It wasn't that he didn't have a competitive streak but, with just two people playing and it being a total win-or-lose situation, victory wasn't as high a priority as just enjoying himself. "Hey, I'm really feeling fries right now. Like, just a huge plate of 'em. You wanna get in on that? Or order something else while I'm at it?" It was likely too many questions at once for anybody who's brain ran at a halfway-normal pace but Tomo had never been good at keeping his thoughts to himself. (Hey, at least there'd be no risk of an awkward silence.)

❝    @anchoragestarters     —     STARTER  DELIVERY     ;     OPEN ! LOCATION:  LAST  PIN  STANDING    ↯    DATE:  FRIDAY,  JANUARY  12 CAP: 3/5  ( NIKOLAI, SAYLOR, BAMBI, ?, ? )

       a visit to the bowling alley after a FUN, EVENTFUL drag show was called for, especially during discount game night! well, maybe not the day of, but certainly the next day. they were likely mixing up the place’s offers, or whatever, but they wanted to have a good time. he invited a few people he knew and didn’t oppose the idea of having random patrons of the bowling alley join in the fun. so addison wasn’t entirely there, but he was present, and that was all that mattered at this point in the evening. “i dunno if anyone else is gonna show up; if you’d like, we can go ahead and start a game of our own, you know. just you and me. what do you say?” if their company wanted to, they could order food for themselves and their party; it was all just assumptions at this time. anything to make the air feel less stuffy and awkward for addison and the other(s). it was rather challenging for them to make friends, let alone keep a conversation going, but they were open-minded with just about anything and anyone, and the other’s presence was, of course, appreciated nonetheless!

#« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 replies. 」 #« ᴛ ᴏ ᴍ ᴏ » / 「 & addison. 」 #(just realised that this open capped out before this posted from my queue so pls ignore this if it's too much sorry SFSGSGSGGD)