callofthevcid

[callofthevcid]

"I think they're actually worse than any city, if I'm being honest. Smaller ground to cover and more time on their hands, you know? But aside from that, it's, uh, it's no so bad here." Sam aimed for a smile, truly she did, but whatever cracked across her face felt more like a grimace.

The expression only deepened, growing closer and closer to discontent, as she considered the next question. "I'm... I'm actually not sure." When was the last time that happened?

Her entire life she'd been relegated to 'the weird girl who knew things'. Lots of things. Strange things, random things, utterly useless things—But she didn't know that, and it irked her. She was three seconds from pulling out her phone and opening up a new Google search for both their benefits.

Ultimately, it was the word 'drinks' that stayed her hand.

Her day hadn't quite reached '$100 parking ticket' level (yet) but on the heels of a meetup with that very same mom she'd mentioned just minutes ago? "Yeah," Sam huffed in laughter. "I could go for a drink. Hell, I'll even buy." She scanned up and down both ends of the street before prompting, "C'mon. I know of a few places that are pretty decent. Unless you have one in mind?"

She expected something like this from New York, but from a tiny dot on the map like Woodside? "Great. Thought I left that back in the city." Teeth sank into her bottom lip softly as emotions battled within. On one hand, at least she could add to her never have I ever list, only to mark it off as complete?

Brows lifted as if she understood the severity of a booted tire and a bench warrant. Neither sounded like something she wanted to deal with. "I'll pay it. I don't have a problem with that. Does this kind of thing go on your record?" Not that she had a problem with that either. She doubted a parking ticket would shatter the career she'd already put on pause anyway.

Cherry coated lips stretched upwards at the corners and a quiet laugh spilled out. It was the concept that had annoyed her most of all, but the other had provided just enough humor to alleviate all care. "Honestly, I think I'd be up for anything at this point. What's the worst that could happen? They give me another?" After a beat, her smile faltered slightly. "I'm kidding. I don't want another, but... I could use a drink. If you're interested in joining?"

[callofthevcid]

location » ??

status » closed for sasha grimm / @gaucheried

Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and—Neve's eyes nearly crossed while they bounced between Sasha and the cat, tracking the path of an orange balloon between them.

"Just to be clear... this is what you meant when you said you had big plans tonight and I decided to come over anyway and prove you wrong?" Technically, she'd decided to pay Stella a visit instead, but why admit that when she fluff her own ego a bit and pretend she'd sensed her little brother's lies through the phone?

A soft, somewhat enamored and somewhat alarmed, sigh breathed out from Neve's nose. "I'm not sure if I should pretend this is normal behavior, call Nic, or stage the intervention myself."

[callofthevcid]

Sam blinked, considering the sudden joint in Dominic's hand. There were probably at least a few who'd argue anything that messed with her head was a terrible idea given her recent injuries, but—Fuck it. Marijuana was legal in the state of Michigan and had been for years now, so it couldn't do that much harm, could it?

"It's almost like your stash and my stash—" of ever present snacks, that is— "made plans for tonight without us even knowing." Her lips curved into small, somewhat impish grin. "Are you more of a salty, sweet, or sour kinda guy? I have us covered on literally every front, but you'll have to sort out the lighter."

—Open Starter for Dom Ludlow Capping @ 0/4

"I'm not supposed to take bribes," Dom began, reaching into his pockets. "But it's also contraband, so technically it's more like confiscating. And Sophie's at a sleepover for the night, so..." He held out his hand, showcasing the item he had stashed. "Care to join?"

[callofthevcid]

location » nic's house, lakeside

status » closed for nicola grimm / @smthliminal

"Oh, good! You're home." Hopping up from her seat, Neve dusted her palms off the side of her jeans—jeans!—and turned toward Nic's newly opened front door. "I cleaned up a little bit around the house—" good luck finding anything ever again— "and bought you some things to spruce the place up."

Smiling wide (perhaps a little too wide), she gestured to her sister's coffee table where a new cut glass vase, filled with fresh flowers, sat center stage. "Aren't they stunning? " With her nerves reaching a furious crescendo inside of her veins and what felt like a whole boot lodged in her throat, Neve kept smiling. Fuck, but her cheeks started to hurt from the sheer force of keeping it steady in place.

Before it could falter or grow so brittle it cracked she turned again, fussing with the equally new arrangement of throw pillows she'd purchased on a whim. "I wasn't sure when you'd be back, but I also made us some lunch."

Confession: She picked up lunch, and then bought a pretty platter to arrange it all on, but wasn't that basically the same thing? "You haven't eaten yet, have you?"

It was almost accusatory the way it snapped out of Neve, though it had no right to be. God, she was such a mess and she hadn't even gotten close to the point. "It's just—Well, I was hoping we could sit down and talk. If you're hungry. Are you hungry?" Without giving Nicola even a second she spun again, a whirlwind of restless energy, and sauntered for the kitchen. "Here, sit. I'll make you a plate."

[callofthevcid]

Slowly, so slowly, Neve blinked. Was he—Did he actually intend that question for her?

"I can't say that I have, no." The words tiptoed out of her in a way that bordered on suspicious. Nobody asked for her opinion. Ever. Not unless it was on whether or not Tilly Livingston started getting Botox, or if it was better to own a summer home in the Hamptons or on the Cape.

This was neither of those things. This question, unexpected as it was, actually deigned to scratch deeper than the surface. Was it a trick? Was a secret audience hiding in the wings, ready to laugh on cue the second she fell for it?

She didn't know him, so she didn't trust it, and yet the sole fact that she didn't know him, and therefore he didn't know her, meant she could speak freely without being gawked at for—shocker—actually having half a brain and a handful of original thoughts.

Like a starved creature who'd finally caught the carrot on a string, Neve couldn't resist taking the bait.

“Mostly, I guess, because I don't need to wonder. Few things are ever what they seem, it'll always be easier to fuck a pretty lie than love an ugly truth, and every single day people happily go to horrible lengths just to hide the stupidest secrets. That's... life, isn't it?" Winners, losers, anyone caught in between—At some point or another they all took a turn playing unreliable narrator for a chapter or two .

"I think, or at least I'd assume, most people know ninety percent of everything they've ever been told or ever believed is just bullshit. But—" She edged around him with a small, privately delighted smile and returned the book she wanted (but ultimately wouldn't buy) back to its spot on the shelf— "I also think very few of us can stomach picking apart the threads between fact and fiction without winning a one way ticket to a grippy socks vacation at the end."

"I mean, let's be honest. Most of us don't really want to know what skeletons are rotting inside of our mattress, right? Then we'd have to do something about it, or admit we were the ones who hid them there in the first place. What we really want is to just light a nice candle, ignore the lumps, and roll around on the pretty new sheets we bought for the bed."

location: novelty bookstore open: 3/4

Ethan ran his fingers along the worn spines of a row of books, pausing on one with a cracked leather cover titled Empires of the Forgotten World. Pulling it free, he flipped through the yellowed pages. Without looking up at the person standing nearby, he struck up a random conversation for the hell of it.

“You ever think about how much of history is just someone’s version of the truth?” He finally glanced sideways at the stranger standing a few feet away. Like, how much of what we know is just what survived—what someone wanted us to believe?” He smirked slightly, thumb tapping against the spine of the book. “Makes you wonder how much got buried on purpose.”

[callofthevcid]

Nic’s house. Her mother’s and, therefore, Sasha’s house. The hair salon. A few of Woodside’s more promising boutiques—Neve had officially been in town a month now and she was slowly, steadily, losing her goddamned mind. 

Truth be told she’d probably been losing it for awhile now, so it was unlikely the slower pace, change of scenery Michigan provided contributed little to the fact, but did the root cause really matter if the end result was the same?

Her head was a mess. She needed to go somewhere. Do… something. Which is exactly how she found herself on her first adventure to the local gym.

She'd been feeling pretty good about that choice, too—even if she wasn't really a 'get sweaty lifting weights' kind of girl—but all it took was one offhanded, seemingly innocent comment to have her second guessing, well, everything.

Unblinking, she shifted her stare from the bottle of disinfectant in her hand to the stranger, then from the stranger back to the equipment she'd just finished using. "Are you—Are you saying it's uncommon for people to clean up after themselves here?"

Neve managed to suppress a horrified shudder, but just barely.

Starter for: open

Location: Rose's Gym

August was always trying to stay fit since he liked to keep busy and like a good looking body. He had just finished lifting some weights and he was going to grab a paper towel and some cleaner to disinfect the equipment he was using. He had seen someone who was grabbing some cleaner themselves and he pulled an earbud out of his ear, “It’s nice to know there’s other people out there who want to keep the place clean and stop spreading germs.” August mentioned to the other, smiling a bit not even sure if they had heard him.

[callofthevcid]

location » woodside heights, inside the nearest gas station to her new apartment

status » closed for @smthliminal

"Yup. 'Course I'm drinking that tea blend you made me. Thanks for bringing it by, mom." Sam snagged a pack of Haribo gummy bears off its hook and stole a sip from the paper cup in her hand—The same one filled to the brim with premium, 100% full caf, pure black, gas station coffee and not the brew of Linnea's homegrown mystery herbs, as promised.

Unbeknownst to her mom, she'd also gone against doctors orders to avoid screens for 'at least 3-4 weeks' and spent the morning in front of her laptop, too.

Was it a foolish, one way ticket to prolonging her own recovery? Maybe. But being back in Woodside was challenge enough; if she didn't have something to do with herself—something that didn't involve her mom's questionably safe home remedies and recommendations for nightly, naked moon bathing—she'd actually, very likely, go insane.

It's not like she was hurting anyone if she still did a bit of work on the side. Except maybe herself. And, really, she felt fine. At the very least, she'd be fine—Particularly if she managed to get off the phone and into a sugar coma anytime within the next two decades.

She'd just steered her mom in the direction of a goodbye, ready to head for the register with her sweet, sweet bounty when someone else turned the corner of the aisle and—Sam slammed to a halt, both her candy and that contraband coffee flying.

"Shit. Fuck. Ow! Fuck."

Flailing around, knocking into at least two displays in the process, she couldn't figure out where to focus. The scalding hot drink that now dripped from her fingertips to her toes? Or the fact that spotting Isaiah—her Isaiah, but not her Isaiah—was the whole reason she faltered and lost her cup to begin with?

Had he seen her? Christ's sake. Of course he'd seen her. By that point everyone inside had seen her. It wasn't really hard to do in a gas station the size of a postage stamp when she was drenched, sputtering obscenities, and one-woman-wrecking-balling all over the place.

"Uh, hey. Hey! Hi." A flush crept across her skin, heating her cheeks a full one thousand degrees. Not so successfully, Sam tried to wipe some of the spill from her hand to her equally wet jeans. "Sorry, I didn't, uhm—I mean, I was just—There was a... bee. In my drink. There was a bee in my drink."

Because that made sense at the very beginning of February. In Michigan.

Still, Sam soldiered on as if seeing him hadn't just flipped her walking human disaster switch, and as if she hadn't just tried to excuse it with such a weak, obvious lie. "Anyway! Hey. Hi. I'd, uhm, I'd offer to hug you but..." Coffee. Everywhere. Even, she realized, in her hair. "I'm guessing you don't need a second bath today, amiright?"

[callofthevcid]

"—yeah," Sam drawled, her eyes shifting from the other woman to the fresh ticket in her hands. "This place has a habit of fucking you any chance it gets." Apparently, even two weeks into her return, she was still hung up on grievances of the past. Who would've guessed?

She hadn't meant to project onto an innocent stranger, though. When she glanced over again it was with a somewhat apologetic smile for speaking inside thoughts out loud.

"It sucks, but you're probably better off just paying it now versus later. My mom used to think these things were more of a suggestion—" part of her lifelong 'this land belongs to all of us' ideals, no doubt— "and got herself a booted tire and a bench warrant as a result."

"Pretty sure she's still holding out hope that Stevie Nicks will sign the mugshot she framed on our living room wall." It wasn't clear how, exactly, the two related? But that was sort of par for the course when it came to Linnea Cavazos. "I don't take it your in a similar mood to redecorate, are you?"

— open starter 0/4 ; downtown.

Shit. Had she really been gone for two hours? When she’d looked at the clock, she could’ve sworn she had nearly half an hour to go before her zone was timed out. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she exhaled, pulling the ticket from her windshield and looking over the timestamp. Okay, so maybe she’d miscalculated, but only by fifteen minutes. “One hundred dollars for parking in a spot for fifteen minutes over? Seriously, I can’t,” she trailed off, dark hues rolling as she gripped the ticket tighter in one hand. "How do I even pay this?" As the question ghosted off her tongue, she caught another's gaze and forced a smile to her mouth. "First time," she added as she held up the ticket for the other to see.

[callofthevcid]

───────────────── 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 » 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 » 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬.

Name: Geneva Margaret Grimm-Saxon

Nickname(s): Neve

Age: Thirty eight (38)

Birthday / Zodiac Sign: August 4th, 1986 ; Leo

Current Residence: Temporarily staying in Lakeside with her younger sister, Nicola, and nephew, Teddy.

Length of Time in Woodside: 1 month

Occupation: Stay at Home Trophy Wife / Artist (undisclosed, uses an alias)

Education: B.A. in Art History from Mount Holyoke College, class of 2009

Hometown: Rochester, Minnesota

Prior Residence(s): Greenwich, Connecticut

𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬.

Mother: Stella Grimm

Father: Robin Grimm (deceased)

Siblings: Nicola Grimm, younger sister; Sasha Grimm, younger brother

Other Family: one nephew, Teddy

Sexual Orientation: Bicurious Heteroromantic (so far as she knows)

Marital Status: Separated / It's Complicated

Current Spouse: TBD Saxon (I've used the last name Saxon as a placeholder only)

Previous Partners: TBD

Children: Her collection of vintage Hermès handbags

Pets: Sasha, probably.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 (𝐭𝐥𝐝𝐫-𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧).

Neve is the oldest of three children, followed by her sister, Nicola, and their brother, Sasha. While Nic might as well have been a genius and Sasha found his calling in sports, Neve was always just… pretty. That’s it. That’s all. That was her sole purpose for existing. Or so the attention and comments she received led her to believe.

Although it bothered her that nobody ever seemed to care what lay beneath her surface she leaned into her looks and all the perks that came with it. So much so that, when one too many people joked she'd "never have to work a day in her life with a face like that" she took it to heart. Rather than believing she could be anything more than 'pretty' Neve's ultimate goal became marrying well and living off of that alone.

It worked... until it didn't. As the years went on she became more and more resentful of the way everyone else perceived her (even if she let it happen, and even if it was at least somewhat true). It was the death of her father and a husband who only seemed to bother with her when it was time to parade her off at another party that ended up in her discovering the one thing she was genuinely good at—(rage) painting.

Neve started selling her art under an alias so as to keep it to herself, but that shift in priorities also expanded the places she went and the people she met. Long story short, a chance encounter at her first ever opening resulted in a two year affair. Eventually he left. Immediately Neve shattered. She ended up asking for a divorce (finally) but when her husband refused she came to Woodside, her mother's hometown, to wait him out and find a way to keep it (and her secret double life) out of the courts.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐥𝐝𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧).

TW: parental death, infidelity, marital estrangement/divorce

The first daughter and eldest child of Robin and Stella Grimm, Neve (as she prefers to be called) was born and raised in Rochester, Minnesota. She was never academically gifted, like her younger sister Nicola, or athletically inclined, like her younger brother Sasha but she was... well... pretty.

For the record, deep down Neve loathes the word 'pretty' and thinks its an entirely lazy, uninspired adjective that deserves booted from the dictionary, but I digress— It was (and still is) a rare day that, one way or another, her physical beauty didn't earn some form of praise.

Might not sound like a bad problem to have, except nobody really noticed how much it bothered Neve to her worth summed up to things literally beyond her control. She was pretty and popular, sure, but it never felt like anybody particularly noticed or cared about who she was versus how she looked.

Now let's be honest here—Neve didn't exactly go out of her way to fix that. Shallow flattery and fake friendship were still attention, and sue her but Neve likes attention. Throughout the years she learned to lean into the perception of her, embrace the advantages of her so-called pretty privledge, and accepted that there were worse fates to be found.

And that's sort of the problem when nobody around you expects you to amount to anything more than your looks. Neve stopped expecting more from herself, too. She took the idea of "so pretty you won't have to work a day in your life" and ran with it... all the way to the east coast.

It's a small miracle she even got accepted at Mount Holyoke with her kind of grades, but the how's and why's of it all didn't really matter. She knew before she even arrived that she wasn't going to school for higher education. No, Neve's sole purpose over those next four years was to find herself a husband with a high net worth. And she did.

Shortly after finishing her undergraduate in art history Neve said 'I do' and earned her Mrs. degree. If some little voice in the back of her head started screaming after their wedding she drowned out it's noise with another shopping spree.

For several years Neve allowed her entire identity to become 'his wife' who supported 'his image' and 'his career' and 'his dreams', and for years that scream inside of her head kept growing louder. She had a house big enough to shelter an entire football team, yet her life felt empty. She was on the arm of a man most considered unfairly handsome and undoubtedly charming—was the darling of every dinner party, every benefit, every Sunday brunch—and yet she felt utterly alone.

Maybe she could've mustered up another dazzling smile and kept ignoring her deepest truths, but when her father passed and her husband seemed more preoccupied with work and his own social obligations than helping her through her grieving something inside of Neve snapped. And so, while one man was laid to rest another was given life. Sort of.

Nobody ever really put much stock in Neve's choice of college degree because they never really put much stock in Neve, period. They didn't realize that she hadn't picked something off the academics list at random but because the only thing she'd ever been drawn to more than her own reflection in the mirror was art.

In the wake of her father's death, painting became her one and only outlet to process every loss, every aggravation, frustration, and offense she'd ignored for so long. When it became clear she was actually good—shockingly good—at it Evan Ingram was born. The day Neve chose an alias (created from the letters of her own name) in order to sell her first painting she had no way of realizing that moment would become the biggest turning point, and the eventual deterioration, of her entire life.

Slowly but surely Evan Ingram—the mysterious man nobody ever seemed to actually meet—earned a small cult following of fans. The fact that people wanted to buy something she, of all people, created in and of itself was a big deal for Neve. Meeting him at 'Evan's' first opening was even bigger.

The stranger she met that night after several not so subtle glances across the room was meant to stay a stranger, but that one night of cheap whiskey at a nearby bar and hours of conversation spiraled into a two year affair. By the time he eventually had enough to the stolen moments and sordid secrets and walked away he took whatever scrap of heart Neve possessed with him.

Since then Neve finally decided she had enough and asked for a divorce—going so far as to admit everything to her husband, wrongly assuming it'd make a difference—but he's been surprisingly adamant in refusing her request. She's been in Woodside for about a month now, staying with family and testing the limits of his (and her) patience... not to mention trying to think up a way to keep it all from going to court. To this day nobody knows Geneva Grimm and Evan Ingram are one in the same. She, and the secret profit she's made, would like to keep it that way.

[callofthevcid]

───────────────── 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 » 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 » 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬.

Name: Samanta Maria Cavazos, formerly Lawson

Nickname(s): Sam

Age: Thirty-six (36)

Birthday / Zodiac Sign: January 30th, 1989 ; Capricorn

Current Residence: Subletting in Woodside Heights

Length of Time in Woodside: ages 7 to 18, presently returned for two weeks

Occupation: Computational Linguist and freelance translator/consultant

Education: B.S. in Linguistics and Computer Science from Northeastern University; M.A. in Linguistics with a specialization in Language Documentation and Field Linguistics from Boston University; PhD in Experimental Linguistics from Massachusetts Institute of Technology

Hometown: Woodside, Michigan

Prior Residence(s): Boston, Massachusetts; Arlington, Virginia; San Francisco, California

𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬.

Mother: Linnea Cavazos, neé Halstrom

Father: Gael Cavazos Garcia

Siblings: tbd

Other Family: tbd

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Biromantic

Marital Status: Divorced

Current Partner: None

Previous Partners: Isaiah Lawson, married for __ years and divorced for __.

Children: None

Pets: A newly acquired orange stoop cat named... Cat

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 (𝐭𝐥𝐝𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧).

Sam grew up in Woodside after she and her parents moved to town just before the start of 2nd grade. To put it as simply and politely as possible... it was not a fun time™. Sam really struggled to fit in and make friends, in part due to her above average intelligence and being seen as the weird new know-it-all kid.

The main exception to this rule was Isaiah Lawson. The two became best friends all through their school years and eventually, after randomly crossing paths again in Boston through some twist of fate, ended up marrying. Fate wasn't on their side, though, because just a few short years later things fell apart. He needed to move back to Woodside, Sam would've followed him basically anywhere but home.

They ended up divorcing, because what else was there to do??, and she's spent all this time since making work her wife/mistress/religion. She didn't need the universe to prove for the second (or seventeeth) time that she and human connection just aren't meant to be. Following an "accidental assault" head injury she's finally—reluctantly—back in Woodside again to be near her parents while she recovers.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐥𝐝𝐫 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧).

TW: bullying, divorce, minor mentions of assault and injury

Although she technically wasn't born in Woodside it's the only childhood home she really remembers. Unfortunately. Samanta and her parents moved to town shortly before she started second grade and if Gael and Linnea thought it'd be a good change of scenery for their little party of three they were wildly mistaken. Maybe not for themselves, but certainly when it came to their daughter.

Maybe it was her hair (a little too curly, too frizzy, too fond of sticking up in ten different directions) or maybe it was the gap between her two front teeth (you know, the one Gael and Linnea insisted gave her character). Maybe it was the fact that she had a penchant for weird snack combinations or a somewhat alarmingly large fascination with trivia and useless facts. Either way, Sam and her classmates didn't really get along... and that's putting it politely. She quickly became the butt of every joke, the lost invitation to every birthday party, and the last kid picked on the playground.

Growing up Sam few, if any, true friends... aside from Isaiah Lawson. He never seemed to care that the rest of their classmates had all but deemed her a persona non grata from the start. Zey welcomed her into his life with open arms and from that day on its where she stayed. The two bonded over their hobbies, whether the interest was something they shared or not, and spent almost every weekend up to childish antics around town.

He'd undoubtedly become her very best friend... even if, as they got older and teenage hormones kicked in, the way Sam started to look at him became a little more than 'just friends'. Ultimately nothing ever happened between them during their school years, for more reasons than one, but when they crossed paths again in college it felt a little bit like fate. What were the chances that they'd both be in the same place, at the same time, still feeling that same pull to one another that'd been there from the start?

Having grown into her own skin and confidence since moving away from Woodside it was surprisingly easy for Sam to finally cave to the attraction between them and, after basically a lifetime of knowing each other, things moved swiftly from there. By the time she and Zey were graduating from their respective colleges they were already married.

It was a good marriage. A happy marriage. A marriage that maybe played second fiddle to the careers they were trying to kick off now and then, but a marriage that promised so much for all the years yet to come. Unfortunately, a few years was all they'd have. Tragedy struck, demanding Isaiah return home to Woodside, and Sam... Sam couldn't bring herself to go with him.

The choice wasn't due to any lack of love, but because she'd spent so much of her life feeling so insignificant and small within those town limits. Having barely left, barely gotten used to who she was without the pressure and ridicule of her childhood peers, she wasn't ready in any sense of the word to give up what she'd gained since leaving. Sam broke two hearts the day she decided he'd go, she'd stay, and that would be that.

Despite all her insistence that she was fine in the wake of their divorce she was the farthest thing from it. Sam had a hard time convincing herself she didn't feel his absence in every breath, every pause between sentences, every cold spot in their bed at night, and likely didn't do a very good job convincing anyone else, either. It's not much of a wonder why she started using work as a convenient excuse to avoid socializing again. The fact that losing herself at her computer every day served as a decdent distraction helped, too.

Sam's spent all these years since living for her job and pretty much her job alone. She collected more degrees. She avoided putting down roots. She probably would've kept climbing higher and higher within the isolated sphere of her career if she hadn't decided it was better to take the apartment with cheaper rent over the one with a better view. Because that cheaper apartment came with nightmare neighbors. And when one of their fights carried out into the shared hall between units, catching Sam in the wrong place at the wrong time, she caught a baseball bat to the head, too.

If there's one thing Linnea Cavazos was always good at it's sweet talking her daughter into submission, so instead of sticking around in California to rest and recover alone she's finally, after all these years back in Woodside. But if you ask Sam it's only until she's healed and taken off medical leave, because if she's not ready to face the ghosts of her past she's ready to see Isaiah again even less.

[callofthevcid]

THE NEWSROOM | 3x01 - Boston

[callofthevcid]

[callofthevcid]

[callofthevcid]

Phoebe Tonkin for Chanel

[callofthevcid]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐯𝐜𝐢𝐝: muses penned by kayla ( 33, she/her, EST ) for woodside roleplay

𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑽𝑨 𝑮𝑹𝑰𝑴𝑴 — 38, stay at home trophy wife (and secret artist), lakeside intro • connections • inspiration • photos • musings

𝑺𝑨𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑻𝑨 𝑪𝑨𝑽𝑨𝒁𝑶𝑺 — 36, computational linguist, woodside heights intro • connections • inspiration • photos • musings

[callofthevcid]

» 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐝𝐮𝐦𝐩.

— 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐦.

“ god save the prom queen — 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 « 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐚.

“ beautiful like a bruise — 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐬 « 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐚.

“ the biggest apologies i owe are to myself — 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 « 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐚.

“ quote goes here — 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐦 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲.

“ quote goes here — 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

— 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐳𝐨𝐬.

“ what is flying? an art learned by falling — 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 « 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚.

“ when i look in the mirror a stranger stares back — 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐬 « 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚.

“ this is a lullaby; or perhaps an apology to myself — 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 « 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚.

“ quote goes here — 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐚𝐡.

“ quote goes here — 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.