Repose

[After waking up to a note saying Sam was going to check on Meredith and would be back, Cris spends a bitta time fixing the phone she managed to rip outta the wall. When he gets it working, he calls his own cell—figuring it's gone, 'cause she took it.]

[Call to his own phone]
[Ring!]

Who: Oliver and Jude
What: Pizza night
Where: Their fall-down mansion in the woods
When: Recently
Warnings: None likely


[Crippled architecture, peeling wallpaper, and a sagging roof. There was beauty in the exposure, the elemental wounds of water damage and windblown shingles torn loose from the con brothers' home. Oliver liked old things. He thought experience and scars were more beautiful than polished innocence. Broken windows could tell a story, and rust held more curiosity than anything that gleamed chrome-brite. Such impractical romanticism, it didn't even occur to Oliver to try and repair any of these travesties. It was growing colder with every new sunset, but there were plenty of blankets to go around. Thrift store quilts and tacky crochet numbers in 70's chocolate and gold. Fleecy red and blue. A lumpy down comforter with so many little knicks and tears that Oliver left a trail of white feathers when he dragged it all the way down the stairs and into the living room.

Tonight, Oliver was feeling ambitious. He embarked on the dangerous mission of getting a blaze started in the fireplace. Crumpled newspaper, failed sketches, and small chunks of wood from the outside steps. All of these things were mounded into the ashen crypt of the long-neglected fireplace. He threw a couple of lit cigarettes into the debris, but no spark seemed to take, and so Oliver chose instead to occupy himself with the epic construction of a blanket fort.

A layer of bedding on the floor, and a sheet draped over the top his easel and the corner of a wicker rocking chair, that formed the thin roof. Oliver preferred creative exploits to kill the time, something to do with his hands so that he didn't pace and smoke madly through a house of eerie solitude. Sometimes a raccoon broke into the kitchen in search of the occasionally stocked box of lucky charms. But not tonight, tonight was quiet as a grave.

Jude would be home with the promised pizza soon, Oliver reminded himself while he chewed on the paint-flecked beds of his nails. Soon. He flopped into the blanket cave, an Ophelian heap of avian bones festively wrapped in a red and navy onesie pajamas. He pulled the hood up over his hair, and a deck of cards from his cotton ribbed pocket. Shuffle and deal. Maybe it would be nice if that criminal raccoon did show up. It would look so cute learning to play gin rummy with those little hands.]

Who: Hunter and Emily
What: Hunter, a shovel, and company?
Where: The Cemetery, of course.
When: Before sunup, say 4 AM.
Warnings/Rating: Safe.

( 'When you're dead, they really fix you up.' - JD Salinger )

Stay far, far away from the lake.

so. is everyone here gonna tear each other to pieces if i ask where the best drink in town actually is?

[Private to Reece E.]

Hey kiddo, you ready to do some science? Well, too bad. One of my guys went missing.

[Melody B.]
[A phone call to the cell she's locked up in. Dane's made sure she's comfortable and always has a way to talk to her. #1 Best Dad in the world. Ring ring!]

[Public]

Screw that freaky post about the lake. I'm throwing a party at my mansion.

[After talking to her sister.]

[Locked to Iris M]
r u the baker lady?