#danielleinteracts

[secrettyrant]

closed starter, the dog danielle and the dog staff

There’s a man outside screaming through the locked doors of The Dog. Danielle lets it happen for a minute, arms crossed, weight shifted onto one hip as she listens to the dramatics reach down the street. Rudy Hoffman. A real piece of work. The previous owner, technically. The idiot who ran this place into the ground, drowning in debt, making all the wrong calls. He should be thanking her, really. Instead, he’s red in the face, veins bulging, calling her a fraud, a liar, a thief. Rude. But, true.

She waits for him to lose a little steam, then turns back to the gathered staff, offering them a wide eyed, apologetic wince like, yikes, some people just can’t let go. Then, as if that isn’t still happening in the background, she claps her hands together and nods. "Legally, I can't actually discuss what's happened, but I can say he's just a little bit emotional." she scans the room, her gaze landing on each of them one by one, giving the chairs she’s arranged in a circle a little gesture. Real cozy. A real professional business meeting. "But anyways, Jakob, if he gets too much, use them muscles for something other than sittin' there lookin' all handsome."

She flicks a point at him, then clears her throat, shifting right along. "So, this is excitin'. I know you're all lookin' at me like, what the fuck, and honestly? What the fuck. But me and Rudy go way back. Obviously. We all do. And a few years back, we met this amazin' woman." she sighs, eyes flicking up like she’s thinking about someone real dear to her heart. "April. God. She’s... she’s somethin’ alright. Businesswoman, entrepreneur. You know those fancy electric cigarette lighters? All her. Her invention. Fuckin' genius." Bullshit. But Danielle sells it like it's gospel.

"Anyways," she waves a hand, like the specifics don’t really matter, "Rudy was takin' out loans against this bar. A real mess. And April, bein' the saint she is, didn’t wanna see it go under. So, she steps in, saves the place, and hires me as the new manager. That’s the... basics." More bullshit. But what are they gonna do? Fact check her? Possibly. Maybe.

"And!" she grins, reaching into the folder she’s got tucked under one arm, "we got some new contracts for y'all. Excitin' stuff." she starts handing them out, sliding one to Josie, one to Luke, one to Jakob. The thick, slightly too crisp stack of paper in their hands isn’t exactly standard. They’ll notice some things. The contracts are just vague enough to leave room for interpretation. Hours aren’t guaranteed. Pay rates? A little loose. Overtime? Subject to availability. And, most importantly, the phrase “at the discretion of management” appears way too many times for comfort.

"Take your time," she assures them, as if any of this is optional. "But let’s be real, ain’t none of us goin' anywhere. We love this place, right?" she beams, easy, relaxed, perfectly at home in the chaos she’s created. Outside, Rudy's still yelling. Danielle sighs, shakes her head, then takes a seat like she’s got all the time in the world. "Alright. Questions? Comments? Concerns? Don’t all go rushin' at once."

[secrettyrant]

Danielle is blissfully unaware that Felix is having a moment. A real, existential crisis as he stares into the monumental wig perched on her head, like he’s seeing into the fabric of reality itself. She, on the other hand, is busy flicking through the (fake) paperwork in front of her, nodding along, not even sparing him a glance.

"Ah, she loves it at your place." Danielle claims proudly, as if Cordelia has ever used the word love in a sentence. Especially not about Felix's couch. But Dani knows things. She grins, flipping a page. "Every time we called, she was there." she tacks on, nodding. Knowing. Then she laughs, waving a dismissive hand toward Felix’s general existence, completely unaware that his soul is folding in on itself. Talking like this is normal, like her wig isn't swaying in the shitty air conditioning of the bank, defying gravity, threatening to depart at any moment. "You were inside too, huh? What was that for?" she hums, flipping another page. "Taxes? 'cause, I know a guy. If you need it. For next time. Real good shit."

Finally, Danielle glances at him and frowns like a concerned mother, eyebrows knitting together, head tilting just slightly. "Jesus, baby, you need more sun." she gestures vaguely to his whole complexion, unimpressed. "That ain't normal. You not even drinking orange juice? What the fuck's wrong with you?" and she doesn’t even blink when Felix plucks a bug from her wig, flicking it into oblivion like he’s just exorcised it. "Damn. I wonder what else is up in there." her hand flies up, tapping over the wig just slightly but enough to make the whole thing bounce with the motion. "If you can find me ten bucks, I might kiss ya!" her cackle is quick, short, over with in a second.

But when it comes to Cordelia knowing about her release, Danielle shrugs softly. "She don’t know." she says, flipping another page, like it’s nothing. "Figured I’d surprise her, ya know? she grins then, chuffed, pleased as hell with herself. "Actually," she taps a manicured nail against the paperwork, then taps her nose like she's in on some big fucking secret. "I got a few surprises." her eyes flick to the glass, watching the bank teller in the back office. “And if these fuckers hurry up?” she leans in slightly, dropping her voice, just for the drama of it all. "Oh, Felix. It's gonna be quite a story." and just like that, Danielle straightens again, plucking a thread off his hoodie and wiggling her fingers so it falls away. "You know who's workin' at the dog lately?"

Felix blinked. But when he opened his eyes, Danielle was still there. Still in a wig the size of a small country. Jesus Christ. He wasn't even looking at her, not really. He was staring right at the top of it, at the way it bobbed when she spoke, like it had its own gravitational pull, like it was absorbing sound waves. All he could literally do was watch the wig. "I've…been good." the words left his mouth on autopilot, flat and absent, like they were buffering mid air before they even reached her. He didn't even register what she said after that. Or maybe he did, but his brain refused to process it, refused to do anything except stare.

Then...Cordie. It yanked him back, a flicker of life snapping into him like a defibrillator shock. "Oh, yeah, she's great. She's…on the couch." he had no fucking clue why he said it like that. As if that was all Cordelia had been up to since Danielle had last seen her. Just. Sitting on his couch. Perpetually. But then, nope. Gone again. Felix blinked, again, slower this time, eyes dragging from Danielle's face to the massive tangle of synthetic fibers on her head. "Have you not told her you're out?" he asked, and it was a good question. An important question. But holy fuck. The wig.

It was like one of those optical illusions. Like if he zoomed in far enough, he'd see a whole civilization, a tiny town with a tiny mayor, a fucking economy. Maybe even some planets. The longer he looked, the more his brain bent in on itself. He barely even heard Danielle's quip, too busy tracking something. Movement. Something darting between the strands of plastic hair. Something alive. A bug. Felix lifted a hand on pure instinct, plucked the little fucker out and flicked it away without thinking. "Sorry." he muttered, only just realizing what he did. "That was bothering me."

Liar. The whole fucking thing was bothering him. The wig. The bank. The fact that Danielle was standing in front of him at all. He finally wrenched his eyes back to her face, exhaling sharp, clearing his throat, like that would help bring him back to reality. "Are you…" a glance toward the empty seat behind the glass. Back to her. "…Up to something?"

[secrettyrant]

closed starter, the dog danielle and cordelia @hxckedvxid

When Danielle’s feet finally hit Clearwater ground, and she’s no longer balancing a wig the size of a moon on her head, there are still a few errands to run. Dropping by Real Beauty Salon isn’t exactly necessary, but after spending the morning pretending to be April Harris at the bank, she needs to feel a little human again. Just a trim, a blowout, some layers to make herself look a little less like she’s just walked out of prison...which, technically, she has.

Then, it’s off to see her people. Reggie ‘Two-Toes’ Vasquez. He really does have two toes. She's seen! and Big Kim in the alley behind a pawn shop, both of them already half in a fight over whether cryptocurrency is actually the future or if it’s just “Bitcoin Beanie Babies.” Danielle doesn’t give a shit either way. She’s just here to get herself a decent computer rig. Not for anything other than, you know, scams. And Runescape, obviously.

So now she’s pushing a rickety ass shopping cart full of totally legitimate computer parts, already feeling sweat prickling at her forehead as she struggles against the slight incline of the street. Huffing, wiping her face with the back of her hand, she shields her eyes from the glare of the sun. And then she sees a streak of blonde hair, the way it catches the light just right, familiar in a way that tugs something tight in her chest. Danielle stops dead, palms braced on the cart, and grins.

“Cordie! Jesus Christ, sweetheart, look at you.” She’s already moving, abandoning the cart for a second, one arm reaching out to pat her daughter on the shoulder, warm, firm, like a good solid there you are. “I’d hug ya, but-” she nods back to the cart, expression flat. “Fucking look at this thing. I’m sweating my tits off. No one wanna hug these sweaty pits and tits right now.”

She doesn’t give Cordelia a second to react before barreling right ahead. “Did Felix tell ya I was back?” she checks her watch, lets out a sharp whistle. “Damn. Six hours now. Time flies, huh?” she waves her hand at the cart like it’s a foregone conclusion. “C’mon, help me with this. I got some calls to make. Stop it at the dog. Gotta surprise for ya.”

[secrettyrant]

There's no rest for the wicked. And Danielle has a big day, big plans, and no time to waste. Not even four hours ago, she was still an inmate at Wyoming State Penitentiary, the big ol' TWSP. She was still Mama D, people thinking they owed her a couple of ramen packets from the commissary hustle she had going. She should have been thinking about her freedom, about Clearwater, about stepping back into her life. Instead, she spent the last of her inside time checking her books. Making sure nobody thought they were walking away from debts just because she wasn't around to collect.

And now not only is Danielle Edwards a freewoman. She's the rightful owner of The Dog. Actually, the bar belongs to April Harris. And April Harris does not exist. Which is, obviously, neither here nor there.

The last four hours had been busy. Tracking down Robbie for a fresh ID, digging through her old storage unit for a disguise that said competent businesswoman instead of felon on a field trip, making sure she had enough documents to not get laughed out of a bank. The wig had looked a little more subtle in the packaging. But standing here now, staring at her own reflection in the security glass, Danielle was willing to admit she might have overdone it. Big hair, big dreams, baby.

The bank teller looked skeptical at first, but Danielle couldn't even blame her. This wig is massive. Like a whole ecosystem could be living up there. But that's the thrill of it. Watching them step away with her paperwork, that electric moment of anticipation. Will it work? Will it all fall apart? Exciting. She drums her fingers against the counter, already running through her backup plan if this all goes sideways. She's good at that, good at adjusting, good at talking her way into and out of just about anything. She barely even registers the feeling of being watched at first. Banks are nosy places, people always in each other's business.

But then it lingers. And that's when she turns, ready to throw out a quick What the fuck are you looking at...

"Oh, Felix." it comes out as a quiet little laugh, more surprised amusement than actual greeting. "I was about to tell you to fuck off." she leans into the whisper, completely unbothered by the horror written all over his face. And then she nudges her elbow against his arm like this is just any old run in, like she didn't just crawl out of the fucking grave of a prison sentence, like she isn't wearing a wig the size of 10 buildings. "How you been, hun?" she asks, casually stacking her (fake) documents, barely sparing him a glance. "Been a while, huh? Don't worry. Not my real hair. I haven't completely lost it. Cordie keeping good, you seen her?"

bank, ridgeview

felix ranstrom and danielle edwards @secrettyrant

Felix's life wasn't always dead bodies in the trunk of a sedan, getting throat punched by Tate fucking Stone, or watching Cordelia drink sludge mud coffee (while imagining her doing anything but drinking coffee). No, sometimes Felix Ranstrom braved the actual real fucking world. Hated it, obviously. But his frozen account was a genuine issue. If he wanted his new job to pay into it, it obviously needed unfreezing. Couldn't argue with that logic. And it was just as mundane as he knew it would be.

The drive to Ridgeview was long, miserable, and cold. The highway stretched out like some endless purgatory where only semitrucks and roadkill existed. The wind was brutal, the traffic worse. At one point, a minivan swerved into his lane, and for a brief moment, he thought: Yeah. That'd be fine. Just end it here. The bank was worse. A line, long and slow, filled with people who had no urgency. The lighting was sterile, the air smelled like printer ink and stale carpet. The teller helping him, a kid who looked too young to legally work, was already gone, having disappeared into the back to deal with whatever arcane fucking process went into unfreezing an account.

But then. A voice. Familiar. But… altered.

Felix thought he was going insane. More insane than he already was at the fucking bank. He flicked his eyes to the right and for a split second genuinely considered that he had finally lost his mind. That all his years of dissociation had caught up with him, turned into full-blown hallucinations. Because that? That looked like Danielle fucking Edwards in a curly gray wig, dressed like she was ninety years old. Felix blinked. Stared. Wasn't she supposed to be in prison? His mind flickered, fucking predictably, to Cordelia. Did she know? Did anyone know? He glanced through the glass, at the empty seat opposite Danielle, then back to her. Then, he shifted. Just slightly, angling more into her space. "What the fuck?" he whispered, but he wasn't even angry. He was genuinely… horrified.