cxcavaleri-blog

[cxcavaleri-blog]

addison-johnson‌:

“A waste, but I’ll manage somehow.” she said, shaking her head. “Ah, a big shot. So how did you end up in my chair if you’re a big star?” she asked, wondering why he wasn’t in Los Angeles. She hated Los Angeles, too many people, too many crushed dreams, and far too much traffic. “That’s my favorite thing about the Pines, people stay out of other people’s business. For the most part.” she said, combing gently through his hair. “When I’m not doing this? Hm, I spend a lot of time doing research, reading, hanging out at the bar. Doesn’t my life just sound thrilling?” she laughed, disappointed with how her story had gone. She had so much time, and what was she doing with it? Nothing. 

Big shot. Like the Billy Joel song. Dom Perignon in your hand, spoon up your nose. Something, something, just had to be a big shot, didn’t you. “Ah... family stuff.” His hands fidgeted, laced. Hard to stay still, lately. Going stir crazy in this damn town. “For the most part, yeah...” At least when Pineys got nosy, they didn’t bring cameras. Or sell it to the rag mags. Not so far, anyway. Could make a few bucks like that. Easy money. Just, you know, violate a stranger’s privacy, or whatever. Cody would say he couldn’t blame them, but. He kinda could.

“Research?” He asked, hoping she’d take over the talking-about-yourself part of the conversation. That’d be swell. “On what, huh? You taking courses?”

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addison-johnson‌:

When he pulled out pictures of himself, paparazzi photos nonetheless she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He was probably someone important but she barely payed attention to who was who. She had other, more important things to focus her energy on. “Just a trim okay, okay. Can I at least show you another way you could style it, just for fun. If you really hate it I’ll put it back the way you like it. Nothing permanent.” she said, placing her hands on his shoulders. 

“So you have people following you around and taking pictures, and I’m sure it’s offensive that I don’t know why, but do you mind if I ask? Are you on TV or something.” she said, pulling out her tools. The small talk was one of her favorite things about being a stylist. She didn’t get to interact with people in a natural way very often, partially because she had a bad habit of being rude and partially because they were usually in love with her. She worked hard to ensure that she managed both of those things while she was at work. That meant suppressing her powers in a way that was exhausting. 

“Ah... I’m good, actually, just... that.” Cody left the phone out in case she needed it, or anything. Wasn’t like he had a look he had to keep for anything. He just wasn’t up for change, at the moment. Any. At all. Permanent or otherwise. 

So it’d been weird, the pictures. Wasn’t in LA, but, then again - Hollywood was its own kind of freaky. He could only laugh, something sheepish to it. “TV, movies...” Talkshows, magazine covers. The odd runway. Cody brushed by all that, didn’t want to get into it, didn’t need to. If she lived under a rock, well, that was her business. Besides, it was kind of nice. Less pressure, somehow. No expectations to live up to. Fucking novel, man. “It’s - yeah, they’re like that. Nice thing about the Pines, most people have more important shit to think about.” Like their babies, or their rosebushes, or arthritis, or the weather. He settled back, raised an eyebrow. “How about you? What do you do, when you’re not... doing this?” Little bit of chit chat, sure. Part of the hairdressing deal. 

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What do you see for yourself? Great question. Hadn’t seen himself searching around the Pines for a decent haircut, for starters. He’d got one just before, well - rehab. Sometime around there. It had been a couple weeks, that’s it. But here he was, feeling... shaggy. And prickly. No matter how close he shaved. If he was in Los Angeles, he’d hit up his barber, get the whole hot towel treatment. But he wasn’t. So the cut would have to do. “Honestly, just... a trim, I guess?” Cody sighed, too tired to get particularly descriptive. Or anything else, really. Fuck, when had he last had a real night’s sleep? For specificity’s sake, he took out his phone. Was it strange, being able to use paparazzi shots of yourself as reference? Sure, maybe so. But, hey, they got every damn angle. “Should wind up... like... this...” He scrolled through a few, glancing the hairdresser’s way. Half-winced, for effect. You played nice, with your hair people. Always. “Sorry. Not really looking to get wild, here.” 

“So what do you see for yourself? More volume, less volume? We could color, we could highlight. You’re lucky, you have good hair so the world is your oyster.” she said, looking at her client in the mirror. Hair was one of the only things that gave her joy these days. Changing someones entire look with just a cut and color was something she loved, and it was always exciting to have someone new in her chair. 

[cxcavaleri-blog]

New experiences. So fun. He’d put this one off for as long as he reasonably could - almost didn’t go in at all, but the end of that voicemail - any items not collected will, according to station policy, be disposed of - had clattered around his brain for... well, the last few nights. Very loudly. Finally, Cody had hauled himself over to the station, too sober by far for the job at hand. That being picking up whatever they’d found on his mother, when they’d brought her in. From the woods. He was glad, honestly, that the funeral home had already collected her by the time he got here. As per the will. She’d even pre-paid for the coffin; he’d just had to look through the catalogue. 

Which was... something, alright. 

It was just a box. A box of stuff. But here he was, dithering around out front. Envying somebody’s cigarette. Getting noticed, envying said cigarette. “Hey, no - no problem, all the power to you,” Cody waved that off, eyes ticking to the sign, back to the guy who’d caught him coveting. Did he need help? Maybe. Probably. “Ah, I’m just here for some... some personal effects... you figure that’s a front desk kind of thing, or should I be looking for the morgue, or...?” He wound down, at a loss. Help. Yes. God, he could use some help. 

Saiph was aware of how ridiculous he looked, lacking any professionalism dressed in his ripped jeans, and a sweatshirt he wasn’t 100% sure belonged to him. Dreads tucked haphazardly into his hood Saiph entered the sheriff’s station with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth- Unlit as if that would provoke confidence that he was, in fact, good at his job. His eyes scanned the bullpen left barren looking for someone of authority to clear a body so he could take it on its way. It must have been either too early or too late for the calvary, but Saiph was unsure. He was never good with time.

Leaving the station empty handed didn’t bode well, but taking a body without proper release was a serious crime, and Saiph was left with no other option than to wait. Pacing in the bullpen only preoccupied him for so long before he made his way outside to enjoy, and then tarnish the fresh air. With a snap of his fingers the cigarette he had been lazily holding onto was lit, and with each drag and puff of thick gray smoke Saiph cared less that he was being forced to wait on his least favorite group of people so he could do his job. The moment of calm was short lived as Saiph felt a tingle run down his spine.

The young witch could have felt the eyes on his figure from a mile away, and he scanned his surroundings for the source: First behind him to make sure there wasn’t a deputy he missed when he was inside before looking out onto the street. When he finally laid his vision on the stranger his eyes traced from the lit cigarette in his hand up to the clearly posted NO SMOKING sign above him. “Look,” He began to explain, not bothering to extinguish his cigarette “I can read. I just don’t care. Like, not about this at least.” The words exited his lips with a sense of confidence, taking into account the lack of law in the station. “You need help or something?” He asked, his tone growing serious for a moment as he remembered exactly where he was. 

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hunter-redbird‌:

Hunter regretted his question immediately when he saw Cody’s smile falter. He hadn’t meant to upset the guy, but it seemed he had anyway. He retreated slightly, clearing his throat and looking back at the man in front of him apologetically. “I … guess,” he said hesitantly, not entirely sure how to respond. As someone who’d hidden his true identity his entire life, Hunter knew what it was like to pretend he felt one way when he really felt another. But he never would have guessed that Cody Cavaleri would have something to hide behind a fake smile. The guy was famous, he had money, people fawning over him … wasn’t he happy with his life?

Then again, the man was in Blackwood Pines for something. Maybe that something was the reason why he kept giving Hunter these fake grins like he was at a photo op surrounded by paparazzi. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I guess I just … don’t get why you’d have to fake anything.” He kind of wanted to disappear, pretty sure he’d just made an ass out of himself in front of his idol. I swear I’m not a douche, he wanted to say, but he was afraid that’d just make him seem more like a jackass.

Just... just couldn’t leave it alone, huh? Under the counter, Cody’s knee was bouncing like a nervous greyhound’s. The coffee was kicking in, for sure. That, or some kind of conversational fight or flight thing. Nice people - genuinely nice, worried people - which Hunter really did seem to be, they... they were difficult. To extricate yourself from. Because they meant it, didn’t they? They really, really did. He turned his mug in his hands, fidgeting. “You didn’t,” quickly, waving that down. “It’s fine.” Uncomfortable? No. 

“I...” have it great. Absolutely peachy. Nothing to get over, no reason, no right, to be as fucked up as he felt. As if that was how it worked. It wasn’t. He knew that. But knowing and believing aren’t the same. And, at the moment, conveniently, he did have something, a specific, broadly comprehensible, shitty circumstance. So novel - having a crisis on hand that people might take seriously. “My mom died.” Cody threw that down. Acceptance, right? Acceptance. “Out of nowhere. Just - died. And -” he blinked, tried the newscaster trick again. Finished his coffee, cleared his throat, kept going.  Hunter had fucking asked.  “And that’s it. Now I’m stuck cleaning out her house. Because there’s nobody else to do it, and I’m not hiring some random - some fucking strangers, to go through her stuff. But, I mean, at this point... our last phonecall was two years ago, almost?” It hadn’t been long, either. He’d been shitfaced. “Haven’t seen her since I was sixteen. So, I dunno. Maybe I’m a stranger, too.” Cody paused, took a deep, deep breath. Realizing how much he’d just said. “Yeah...” He was half-muttering, now, through the hand sliding down his face. “Guess I’m faking like I should be here at all. Figure that’s easier to do with a smile on. Clicks better with the sweet little small town Americana atmosphere.” ”  

Maybe this had only ever been an excuse to get out of rehab, for a while. Wouldn’t put it past himself. Cheeks hot, Cody slid his empty cup closer. “Refill? Please.

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golden-clare‌:

Clare could tell he was regarding her with suspicion after her offer, and she couldn’t blame him. They were practically strangers, after all. But she was pretty sure this weird late-night snack run bonded them somehow, and anyway she was trying to be a good person, and this was what good people did, right? Offer to help their neighbors move? Or something.

“Trust me, I don’t have much better to do,” she assured him, shaking her head. “Not sure what you mean by ‘normal’ hours, though.” She smirked faintly, given the current time he’d stumbled into The Alibi Room, “normal,” for him, could mean midnight to 3am for all she knew.

“If you say so...” Cody sighed; he’d done what he could. No stopping some people, when they’re feeling helpful. “Uh - normal, yeah... like... after eleven? AM. I’m up at the Lodge, so it takes a while to get into town...” It was kind of ridiculous, yeah, but... but he wasn’t staying in his mom’s, his nonna’s, his family’s empty old house. He was only here to get rid of it, and everything in there. Last thing he fucking needed was to get nostalgic. A waft of bacon-y goodness pulled Cody’s head around before the bell even rang, just as their plates hitting the service sill. “Thank you...” he flashed a happy-drunk smile at old Petar, then swept everything back to one of those rickety tables. “Bon appetit.” Cody slid over a roll of cutlery and opened his own, not standing on ceremony. “There’s ketchup, if you’re into that. And don’t worry, I won’t hold you to helping out. There’s a lot of stuff in that house. We’re talking weird, old crap, too. There’s a stuffed cat in the pantry. The back doorstop’s a box of keys. Big, iron keys. Never seen a lock like that in the house. Anywhere. One of the basement shelves is packed four deep with wine bottles. Which’d be great, except they’re absolutely not filled with wine.” Hell of a disappointment, honestly. He picked his way around that pile of pierogis, the paprika special. Meaty, spicy. “And I’ve thrown at least one fuckin’ ancient, dried up garlic braid out of, I shit you not, every room in the place.” That was just the highlights. "Weird, old crap.” 

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Another day, another - another fucking day. Cody took a lean on the box he’d just stacked, eyes screwed shut, aching. Had to take it easy. All he needed, now, was to throw out his back moving all this junk. He was shocked, honestly, at how much there was. Not because he didn’t know his family held onto things, fiercely. As in, were a pack of shameless hoarders. Just... he hadn’t remembered there being so much. But you didn’t wander around your grandmother’s house taking inventory, did you? Didn’t judge the fact that she kept bad second-hand taxidermy, or a frankly bizarre quantity of wind chimes, dried flowers, and bottles, gleaming in dull greens and dark browns along the windowsills. When he was a kid, he hadn’t seen all the junk. Because it wasn’t junk, not then. It was simply - well, part of it. This home away from home he’d had, a long time ago. Solid, immovable. 

Like his nonna. Like she’d seemed, anyway. Unlike his mom. More of a vanishing act, that one. In death, as in life, she’d left quickly. With no warning, and a mess behind her. 

Was that fair? Not really. But it wasn’t exactly wrong, either.  He was popping a shoulder, hugging it close, when someone rapped on the door. Wincing, Cody seriously considered leaving it. Completely. But, shit. Who’d even be coming? His family had never had many friends around here. Not so far as he remembered, anyway. There was some... some kind of obligation, there. The terms of which Cody couldn’t quite settle on. He hesitated a moment longer, then, against his better judgement - or his worst judgement, really, who was to say - he went for it. Unlatching the door, Cody leaned through, gingerly. “Hi,” a slow start, to... yeah, this wasn’t someone he knew. Great. Good evening just didn’t seem right, given that it wasn’t a good evening. If it had been, they wouldn’t be here, with what looked like condolences in hand. “The place is kind of a disaster, or I’d invite you in...” the smile he’d pulled up hung at an awkward angle. He held out an unsure hand, to shake. “I’m - I’m Cody. Cavaleri.” Not just some stranger, a Cavaleri in the Cavaleri house. Next of kin. Last of kin, at the moment.  

The news of Simone’s death had hit Destan hard. A regular visitor, a supplier, and eventually a friend, the witch had found safety in the woman that held a strange reputation long before they came into the picture. The two helped each other learn different things, Destan assisted by giving information on magic and the supernatural while Simone helped them settle into the town. If Destan were not familiar with death and how it has a habit of just picking people at random, they would say this was unfair.

No, they still think it’s unfair.

Though they made a habit of ignoring the town’s gossip, Destan found that the nosy people had actually come to provide useful information. Someone was in Simone’s house, taking out boxes and apparently cleaning it out. Though Destan had their own suspicions, they found that if anyone would be at that house, it would be someone who might want some help. So after closing the shop up early, the witch drove down to the familiar home that had once sheltered a friend. With a box containing assorted teas and a jar of honey in one hand, Destan knocked with their free hand and waited patiently for someone to answer the door.

@cxcavaleri

[cxcavaleri-blog]

golden-clare‌:

Clare shrugged, leaning against the building herself as she waited for their order to be ready. “I don’t know. Been thinking about going overseas. I’ve never been anywehere outside this country. Maybe I’ll go to Japan or Russia. Or the other way to Scotland or Ireland.” Someplace that wasn’t too sunny.

She tilted her head as she looked back over at him. “If you need help emptying out the house, I don’t mind stopping by before or after work. I’m stronger than I look. Could move some boxes.” She didn’t know why she was offering. Maybe she felt bad for him, maybe her isolation was getting to her. Why did she come out here with him to get pierogies? She tried not to think too hard about it.

“Mm. Tokyo’s wild. And Dublin. Though, the weather’s shitty... forty shades of green, more like forty kinds of fuckin’ rain...” Cody sighed, missing... being somewhere else. Literally anywhere but here. Less the crowds and flashing cameras, but. C’est la. “London’s sick, but, same deal. Give me Monaco. Or Algiers, Panama City... or Sydney, Sydney’s fun...” Another sigh, heavier. Needed some fucking sunshine, soon. Losing his mind over here. In Washington. 

Was she serious? Really? No. But - he was the drunk one. Cody squinted over, through the yellowy neon glow. Seemed weirdly... nice, and neighborly. Was it weird, being nice and neighborly? She wasn’t even from here, didn’t have that cutesy Piney small town crap to explain it. Maybe his case was just that pitiful. With a mystified shake of his head, Cody took it. Fine. Yeah. It’d get him out of here faster, at least a little. “Sure,” he started, slowly. “If you don’t have anything better to do...” She had to. Honestly. Only decent to give her the out, make it clear he didn’t actually expect anything. Couldn’t just go around holding people to their promises, now, could you? Not in his experience. Still. Clare had sounded... real enough, there. Cody drew up a small smile. Real enough. “Thanks. It’s just, uh, last house on Alder Street. Closest to the woods. Come by whenever. You know, within... normal hours...” 

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hunter-redbird‌:

“Yeah, I mean, I get a few early shifts during the week,” Hunter said with an absent nod, hands resting on the counter as he leaned against it, cleaning rag still flung over his shoulder. He studied Cody in front of him, thinking this was a far cry from the Cody Cavaleri from the movies. Not that Hunter thought actors were at all like the characters they played, it was just somewhat jarring to see the object of much of his young adult obsessions in front of him looking like he’d just risen from the grave.

He’d said he was okay, and Hunter didn’t want to pry, but it was pretty obvious the guy wasn’t okay, no matter how big he smiled.

“You do that a lot,” he said before he could stop himself, gesturing toward Cody’s face. “Fake smile, I mean.” He paused, grimacing slightly. “Sorry, it’s none of my business. I’m just … curious as to why you think you have to.” He glanced around the empty diner before looking back at Cody. “There’s no one here you need to impress or anything. You don’t have to smile if you don’t feel like it. It’s not like I’m going to be offended or anything.”

Shifts. Cody had never worked a shift. Life on set wasn’t like that. Felt disingenuous, to call it hard, but... it could be, there were long, long days. But it wasn’t like he was getting cussed out by pissy soccer moms over the toast being underdone, or something. And, obviously... he was getting paid the way he got paid, so. Couldn’t complain. He could drink about it. But he couldn’t complain. 

Speaking of, the coffee was almost great enough that he didn’t wish it was Irish. Almost. Cody was working on it, slowly, when Hunter... just called him the fuck out, huh? Little goddamn early for that, wasn’t it? Said smile bent a bit. “Wow. Ah...” It is none of your business. Thanks for noticing? He swallowed that, and another mouthful of coffee. Took a deep breath, swallowed something else - the rock in his throat. Didn’t go down easy. God, he was tired. Was that what he was feeling? Sure. Call it tired. “I... think I do it for the same reasons everybody else does, honestly,” Cody shook his head, vaguely, the words starting to waver. Look up. You don’t cry so easy, looking at the ceiling lights. Then down, fast. Old newscaster trick. With a laugh, or something like that, he did his best to shrug it off. His very best. “Fake it ‘til you make it. Right?” 

[cxcavaleri-blog]

This air is getting so thin                     Go down, go down, go down            The honey whiskey's kickin'                                    Go down, go down, go down                           I think I better go, before I try something I might regret                                              I might regret

[cxcavaleri-blog]

webber-reyes‌:

“You ever see a bear out here?” Webber latched onto the suggestion with genuine interest. The fright he’d gotten was all but forgotten. Lifting his camera again, he stepped forward, fiddling one handed with the screen. “Shit, could you imagine that’s what I saw? Good thing I booked it…”

Balancing the equipment bag and a still smoking joint, made maneuvering burdensome. Webb let the bag slide off onto the patio, circling around so Cody would be able to watch with him. “Okay, let me just fast forward through this…” he muttered, holding the joint in offer towards Cody as he focused intently on the footage zooming past.

Webb liked to keep the camera rolling, a trick he’d learned doing reality television, but it made a lot more to riffle through when he just needed a solitary moment. It meant what went past was trees mostly, and sometimes his feet when the camera dipped.

“Ah! Look, right here!” Webb shuffled closer, holding up the screen for Cody. The line at the bottom told him there were nearly at the end of what he’d filmed that night. “Okay, watch, and-” He instructed, watching rapt the video swung, and a blurry figure appeared in view. Webb quickly hit pause, squinting down at the small screen. “Look! What do you think that is?”

“When I was a kid, yeah...” A black bear, so, not a big, scary grizzly, or anything. Could still fuck you up, if they wanted to. And there were grizzlies. Not... many. Like, double digits, in the state. But they were out there. “They’re usually pretty easy to scare off, just... make some noise...” Cody sighed, sinking into his chair, fiddling with the lantern. This was probably a mistake. 

Definitely a mistake. Seemed he’d volunteered for a private screening. Jaw set, Cody glanced from the joint to the camera. Didn’t raise a finger for either. No thank you, rando Ghostbuster wannabe. Whatever he was smoking, Cody certainly did not need. Whatever he was filming, in the woods, at this hour, Cody wanted nothing to do with. Period. He was just so bone-tired that he couldn’t string together the wherewithal to do a compelling job of telling this... stranger, really, to hit the road, and pay better attention to fences, locks, and the concept of private property in the future. So he sat, yawning into the back of his hand.  An eyebrow ticked up, barely, as something smeared across the frame. He took a slow, even breath. Like there was anything to consider. Acting. “My guess... literally nothing.” Flatter than the sidewalk. Cody waved the frozen screen away, with equal parts bewilderment and aggravation. No, actually - mostly the second one. How high was this guy? Stumbling around in the forest running a camera.  “What’s your name, anyway?” Not the obvious question, maybe, but honestly? Cody didn’t want to know what the fuck he had been hoping to find. Not that an introduction was all that intriguing, either, but. Seemed the less exhausting turn to take, and at the moment, the path of least resistance was all he had the energy for. 

[cxcavaleri-blog]

annorakim‌:

Wilco was doing that thing he liked to do when he was pretending to be an adorable cat. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he absentmindedly pretended to bat a pinecone - but he only did so because Cody had just drop kicked one off the path. She pressed her lips together to keep from grinning, before tuning back in to listen to his views on the town. 

Ah. A non-believer. Weren’t actor’s supposed to believe in all sorts of shit? She wondered if he believed in the Macbeth superstition - or did that not apply to film actors?

She was silent a moment, glancing up at the treeline, squinting to get a good glimpse of the clouds - a big ol’ drop of water smacked her on the forehead and she laughed. “I don’t think you’re a killjoy,” Annie said, honestly. She looked at him, wiping her forehead. “I just think you don’t believe in the supernatural or paranormal.” Good thing she hadn’t advertised her exorcisms, then. “That’s not a bad thing,” Annie added. Or maybe it was, depending on how you looked at it. On one hand, he could live blissfully ignorant of magic and the supernatural, but on the other…. it could very well get him killed. His aura was strange, though - Annie examined him again, wondering if it was his apparent crankiness that was affecting it. 

“Most of my clients are still in Seattle though, and anyway, I just came back from, uh, seeing a man about a horse -” a common phrase she used to keep her clients confidentiality, “When my jeep broke down. I have a few here, though, thankfully.” 

Cody startled at the laugh, blinked, shook off... whatever that was. Fuck, he was jumpy. It’d just been loud, that was all. “Not a bad thing?” Kind of a funny way to put that. Not believing in shit that wasn’t real wasn’t about good or bad. Just straight up sense. Throwing that some serious side-eye, Cody... wished he’d brought a jacket. A real jacket. “There’s nothing to believe in. Mines collapse. Kids get lost. People do horrible shit.” He threw up his hands, because there it was. The sad fucking truth. “It’s not magic. Pretending it is, is just... delusional.” It wasn’t scorn, in there. Exasperation, maybe. Yeah, sure, he knew - he made movies, for fuck’s sake - that everybody needed an escape, now and then. Stories could help. 

But his grandfather had walked into the woods one day and never came back, and no story could make that better or worse than it was. Not really. People had spent months trying to convince him different. That nonno would stroll through the trees again any day. That he could still be alive. And now, Cody had to smile and nod as near-strangers patted him on the shoulder and told him his mom would always be there. When choosing to not be there had, in fact, been the most significant thing she’d done for her son in over a decade. Stories could help, and they could fucking burn. 

“That the kind of thing the locals hire you for? Ghosts stealing the mail, Bigfoot eating dogs?” Cody knocked some ash into the mud, watching Annie. She didn’t take this shit seriously, did she? He pulled his coat closer against the drizzle. “Or’s it all suburban drama, like mistresses and rigged pie competitions?” 

[cxcavaleri-blog]

golden-clare‌:

He was starting to pry into more information than Clare was willing to share, even with a charismatic drunk fellow. She’d mentioned the murder off-handedly just to see if he would believe her, but mentioning vampirism … that might take things a bit too far. Then again, he could completely think she was messing with him, if he was a true skeptic, and if he didn’t … well, again, there was always encanto.

For some reason Clare felt like being honest. How many people was she 100% honest with? Josie, because she needed to be to survive, and then Ambrose and Felix knew who she was, but it wasn’t as though she liked them. And she hadn’t had much of a choice there. They’d smelled it on her as soon as they’d met her.

She stared up at the menu above the takeout window, the faint buzz sounding almost deafening to her ears, drowning out all other sound. She shrugged, then, glancing sidelong at him. “A little reading, a lot of reading, actually; I don’t get out much other than working at the bar. No offense to Blackwood Pines, but I’m just passing through. Not really looking to make any connections. That hasn’t really worked out for me in the past.” Honesty wasn’t always the best policy, and she wondered if she could get away with not telling the full truth in this night that seemed to be teeming with it.

“What about you? Just here for the funeral stuff?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

“Reading,” Cody nodded, vaguely. “Retro. Cool.” When was the last time he’d read anything that wasn’t a script? Sure, he saw the news, and comments, but... he should probably read more. Someday. Sure. Great idea. He had to chuckle as she continued, smirking in the dark. Passing through. Connections. Sounded like a tragic backstory. Tracked with the husband murder, anyway. 

Man, he was hammered. 

“Hey, well - you’re not missing anything. Except all those charming local mysteries, or whatever. Honestly, only real mystery around here is why anybody fuckin’ sticks around...” Running a hand through his hair, Cody huffed. More tired than genuinely pissy. He wasn’t wrong, though. “Funeral’s done.” Said it fast, like tearing off a bandaid. Which, for a moment, still fucking hurt. “It’s the house, now. Big old thing, full of shit. I...” he shrugged, against that tightness in his throat, the ache between his ribs. “I’ve just gotta empty it out. Make everything presentable, get some ads up... sooner it’s gone, the better.” 

Yeah. Yeah, that was it. “Then it’s back to LA, for me. Fast. You got your next stop picked out already? For when you pass on through.”

[cxcavaleri-blog]

hunter-redbird‌:

Mamma’s Diner had its share of early morning customers, but usually they started trickling in around eight or nine. Hunter and Mamma were the only ones there this early, going through the morning routine of prepping and setting the chairs back down off the tables, making sure all the ketchup bottles and salt and pepper shakers were full, the napkin dispensers were stuffed, and other such menial tasks. So when Hunter heard the bell above the door, he was surprised. Even more so when he exited the kitchen and found himself face to face with none other than Cody Cavaleri. Hunter honestly hadn’t been expecting to see him again after the disaster that was their first meeting. The fact that Cody even remembered his name made his face feel warm, and he had to force himself to remain professional.

“Uh, yeah, hey, good morning,” he said with a nod, taking a step forward before stopping. Something felt off about the guy. He looked like he’d been up all night, but there was more to it than that. That perky smile definitely wasn’t genuine, Hunter could tell that, at least.

“Coffee, right, coming up,” he said with a small smile of his own, not forcing anything. He hoped his nerves weren’t showing, as he stepped over to the coffee pot and got a clean mug from the rack, filling it before stepping over to place it in front of Cody. “Are … you okay?” he decided to ask, guessing the worst that could happen was Cody simply brushing him off (and it wasn’t like that hadn’t happened before).

“Thanks,” he smiled through that, weakly, as Hunter turned away. Some kind of... discomfort, something bristly and claustrophobic, was creeping and crawling through Cody’s chest. Maybe it was being back here, at the diner - even smelled the same, didn’t it? What did they say about smell being the sense most tied to memory, some crap like that? He’d believe it, sitting there, trying not to remember the last time he’d slid into one of those squeaky vinyl booths. That one, specifically. Corner. Nonna’s favourite. It’d been, what, a couple months before that stroke? She was small and old, and he’d just got tall and gangly, sixteen and trying to pull off puberty gracefully. One of those wrinkled hands had slid across the table to cover his nervous, tapping fingers. And where are you going, over there? She’d asked, smiling. His face had flushed hot, ashamed, embarrassed, stumbling into a run through of his schedule - shoots, auditions, tutoring. Life, back in California. Stuff that... just didn’t seem to make much sense, from the Pines. Stop. With that gentle, solid way she had about her. Stay awhile.

His fingers weren’t tapping, now. Only because he’d picked up a few more camera-friendly ways to keep them busy.  Maybe it was Hunter, and how - how he was. Nice. So fucking nice, too nice. No. No, Hunter was fine. Cody was the one being weird. This town was making him weird. He swung that big grin back up when the coffee slid his way. Managed to pin it in place, when Hunter went and got... personal. Great. So, it was obvious. “Oh, sure,” Cody waved the thought away, insistently. Was he okay. “Think I’m getting a migraine.” That wasn’t too bullshitty, was it? Might be true. He raised that coffee, grateful, exhausted. “How, uh - how about you? Early start, huh? Rough...” Well, that sucked, as small talk went. But the coffee was still good, so.

[cxcavaleri-blog]

annorakim‌:

“Thought so, but I didn’t think speculating out loud on how the funeral went would have been polite,” Annie said, glancing back at him. Like asking him if he was here on an actor retreat to get his head screwed on straight was any less rude. “Funerals are always shitty, in their own little special way.” She was comfortable walking in the woods, the ferns, roots, bugs, and everything never really bothered her. That was because of her Gran, though, and her insisting that they, as witches, needed to be one with nature, even if they didn’t specialize in that type of magic. 

Probably why she wasn’t too bothered by how creepy Blackwood Pines was.

So he was settling the affairs. Annie almost snorted - cleaning and selling the house… Why didn’t he just hire a realtor to get that done for him, especially if he wanted to leave. She sensed he didn’t want to elaborate on that even before he turned the conversation back to her. Annie watched as Wilco hopped over a rock. 

“Oh, I’m a, uh…” She eyed him, wondering if he was going to react badly to what she did. Some people automatically assumed they were being investigated whenever she said what the did. It was a great conversation starter for dates. Not. “I’m a private investigator. You know, the people that catch spouses cheating on each other or find missing people?” Or perform exorcisms to get rid of ghosts and summon them to help figure out unfinished business. “Stuff like that. Used to be an apprentice up in Seattle under Lancaster Investigations, but then I got my license and moved out here.”

She paused, and looked at him. 

“Because, well, the Pines is a weird town. I’m curious about it.”

No shit. “Mm.” Cody sighed smoke, glaring up through the trees. Was that rain? Ugh. He raised an eyebrow at Wilco, still wandering around the sort-of-trail with them. What was with that thing, anyway? Cats weren’t like that. Were they? He’d never owned one, maybe, but... this just didn’t seem right. 

Check out the hesitation, though. Annie got eyed right back. What? Her job couldn’t be that exciting. Or she wouldn’t be here, would she? Hell, this little hamlet only had one clinic, one library, one of most things. 

One private investigator, now. Seriously? “Yeah, I know what a private investigator is,” he scoffed, honestly. Like paparazzi, with a little more legal know-how. Was that so far off? Creeping around, stalking for payday. Seemed a fair comparison. That explanation still didn’t make the here of it any more sensible. A weird town. Oh, God. There it was. Sighing smoke, Cody booted a pinecone off the path. “Sorry to be a killjoy, but...” he wasn’t, “from somebody who knows the place? It’s really not that weird. People just tell a lot of stories. Because they’re bored. And petty. Same as in any other dead-end dump.” Nothing interesting about it; nothing endearing, either. That kind of crap was what made his nonno such a shut-in. People. Telling shitty, stupid stories. Cody kicked another cone ahead, watched it bounce. “So, uh... knock yourself out, I guess.” Maybe it was some kind of city kid fantasy, like in the movies. Daytrip off to a cutesy nowheresville, rediscover the mysterious and magical, shake off your disenchanted, unfulfilled adulthood. Classic summer flick fodder. Suppose they were coming up on the right season, anyway. Not that you’d know from looking.

[cxcavaleri-blog]

@hunter-redbird

He hadn’t meant to be here. Not just the Pines, in general. (Though that, of course, still stood.) The diner. Mamma’s. At barely seven in the morning. God-awful hour. When did he even wake up? Had he slept? Cody swayed on his feet, hovering where he’d slowed to a stop on the corner. Hadn’t slept much, if he did. Couldn’t blame it on the old house this time. The Lodge was noisy too, and the sheets had - this sounded weird, maybe it was, but, God - they’d just smelled. A lot. Really intense detergent, or something. Never been bothered by something like that before, but, hell, guess the cleaning crew had just really gone to town. So he’d snuck out, gone for a walk. A long, long walk. How many miles was it to town? When was the last time he’d walked that far? For anything?

Half-dazed, Cody had just followed his feet. Nursed a cigarette down to the filter he’d just flicked into some parking lot puddle. Go figure he’d wind up at this particular door. It’d been so long...

Nope. Nope, not going there. Shouldn’t be going in, either. But he could really, really use a coffee. The lights had just gone on, and... when had he last eaten, anyway? A week without a schedule to keep, and look at him. Cody sighed, miserably, and held out a few more minutes. Then, fine. Fine. Slinking through the doors, he took a stool at the counter. Somebody was in the back; could hear footsteps, things sliding, picked up, put down. Scraping. Clicking. Fuck, even the lights were loud. He wasn’t even hungover. Christ. His head had sunk into his hands, eyes screwed shut. The kitchen door swung, whined. Cody jerked up, summoning the perkiest smile he could. Pretty perky. “Hi - Hunter. Hey.” Really? Really? “Ah... nice morning,” was it? Staring down a sweet, starstruck smalltown guy, at the asscrack of the day, as he pulled together his best not-a-complete-fucking-wreck act? Oh, yeah. Top ten, as mornings went. For sure. “I’d love a coffee, whenever it’s up. No rush.” None at all.