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[helenofwade]

oblvvicn·:

Without a real stove, or oven, or even a fridge that was more than the height of his knees with rust eroding the outsides that attempted to be covered with pamphlets of nearby pizza joints, and tourist attraction magnets- Arthur was left without a proper way of acquiring a meal in Wade. That was of course, without visiting Red’s Diner for the fifth time in a row. He wished he could say it was for their chips and steak, or the gravy that smothered the top- hell even a decent coffee. But unfortunately it was none of the above. He was frankly just thankful for a warm meal that wasn’t microwaved, and that should have been enough.

Barley over a week in Wade, he was already beginning to realise the certain suffocation of familiar faces when the brunette beside him piped up as if they’d been friends since as long as he could remember. Waverly he’s certain her name was, he’d remember her at services bright eyed and adoring. But it was her wife he knew better, by whiskey kept hours, and conversation that never lead anywhere between them. Always dancing around things unsaid, they were good at not saying a thing. Let alone enough to give the other an ounce of what they meant.

“I have to say I’m surprised,” He offered the other, careful with his words. “I didn’t think anyone was Red’s biggest fan by the sounds of it.” Arthur was unfortunately roped into community values at home, his wife would say it was good for them. Dinner parties, and barbecues to catch up, let the kids run in the yard with the couple from a few doors down. But they would never dare dream of helping each other, that didn’t seem to be the way from where they were from.

“That sounds nice though. Will the residents here go for that kind of thing?”

Something about this man smelled rotten.

Perhaps it was the void behind his eyes, or the ease with which he pretended it didn’t exist. Perhaps it was the way she’d seen him lingering at services – which, no one could say that was inherently suspicious, but Waverly wasn’t anyone. She knew this game, knew it well, knew her wife, and knew her well.

But there was nothing she could prove, nothing she could see or touch or hear in any real, tangible way, and she’d tear herself to shreds if she let every uneasy feeling she got every time she passed someone in the street who held Lilith’s hand a little too long after service or smelled like something that had stuck to her wife’s clothing. No, she had no proof, and until she had it, she had no reason to be anything other than her normal polite, perfect self.

She got a bad feeling about their mailman. That didn’t mean he was fucking her wife. Get a grip, Waverly. She shook herself. Plastered a wide, cherry lipped smile onto her face.

“People here, they love the Johnsons,” Waverly said, taking a sip of her tea – chamomile. She was trying to cut out caffeine. “And they love pretending to be good people.” She was one of them. But he didn’t need to know that. “They’ll go for it, not because it’s the right thing to do, but because it keeps up appearances, and frankly, does it matter why they do it? As long as they do it.”

She flicked her eyes to him, curious, something fucking lethal in those brown irises. Waverly was used to people underestimating her, to casting her aside, thinking of her as nothing more than a pretty face and a quick wit, and she hoped, hoped, this man would do the same. Would make it all the more interesting if he did.

“You’re new,” she said, eyes raking him over, top to bottom, from his suit to his hair to his shoes. “Can practically smell it on you. And, I hate to say it, but people like you,” people like us, “don’t...fit here.” She smiled, and it was meant to be pleasant, but her patience was wearing thin, and she was starting to get bored, ready to sink her teeth into something, anything. “Anyone been giving you a hard time?”

[helenofwade]

rhysjkingsbury·:

rhys did not do friends, rhys did not do social events that required him to exchange platitudes about work or the forsaken weather. rhys used to do afternoon tea, used to chat with some friends, before the accident. rhys did not do people, anymore, not in the traditional way.

yet, rhys was pressing the doorbell of the reverend’s house, to see her wife, for afternoon tea. the whole thing sounded so ridiculous in his head, that the urge to laugh got stuck in his throat. monday morning had come with a surprise, when his assistant reminded of this particular rendez-vous. he, honestly, vaguely remembered accepting the invitation solely because the woman giving it out was as beautiful and refined as a Rembrandt. and the fact that she offered tea, all the right words said the right way, rhys hadn’t been able to refuse. still, after the disastrous funeral the town had seen the day before, which ended in the most boring way, rhys wouldn’t say no to a small time off.

the door opened and the smile that stretched rhys’ features could be considered a satisfied one. so effortlessly beautiful, that woman. “ah, i see no reason to lie, it is less …grand.” before she could move, he did catch her hand, delicately placed a small kiss on top of it. “though, it does feel empty, in comparison, as it doesn’t hold your legendary beauty.” a woman of her caliber, dying away in a small as tasteless as wade, what a waste. he did hope the reverend took good care of her woman, or else some might be tempted to …steal her.

the room waverly brought him in was practically a carbon copy his mother’s tea room and though rhys couldn’t say he appreciated his mother much, it did stir up a small amount of nostalgia. a hand on his heart, he tilted his head and offered a small smile to the woman. “waverly, really, i am utterly undeserving of your fine work. but i absolutely appreciate it.” accepting the cup of tea, rhys gently placed it next to the chair he claimed, and couldn’t help but steal a small sandwich as he helped her arranging the service. the satisfied moan that escaped his throat was a surprise, even for him. perhaps he did miss afternoon teas. “i’ll say it now, and probably later too if i’m honest, but waverly … you deserve so much better than wade. god, i had only one and i’m ready to invest in a restaurant for you.”

Before Lilith, Waverly was a reluctantly self ascribed shameless flirt. She basked in the glow of attention from anyone who would give it to her, and regularly used a suggestive hand or a lingering glance to get whatever it was she desired. After Lilith, she had sworn to ditch the habit, and, for the most part, she did. She loved her wife. She cherished her marriage. But it wasn’t always easy, and Waverly wasn’t always strong. And now, in Wade, where she felt like a rose dying on the fucking vine–

She forced the thoughts out of her mind, painting a demure, amused smile onto her pretty pink lips. She was a good cook, she would be the first to admit that, and perhaps, a part of Rhys was hamming it up for her benefit, but god did it feel good to be wanted, to be pursued. She was a rarity, a diamond in the rough of Wade, and it was like finally someone was seeing her.

Perhaps his business acumen was just that good. Perhaps he meant it. Waverly decidedly chose the latter, even though she was certain it was the former.

“My life is with Lilith,” she said with feeling, and she meant it, she meant every breath of it, but sometimes, wasn’t it nice to pretend? “She wanted to come here, to Wade, and so, I came with her. Is it...the nicest place in the world? No. If you’d asked me, where do you see yourself in five years, would I have told you here, in this town? Certainly not. But am I happy?” Waverly’s lips spread into her widest, most charming smile, eyes igniting with a passion for the thought of what this place could be, rather than what it was. “Yes,” she said, voice firm, determined, almost cracking under the pressure. “Incandescently so.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, playing with the pearl stud tucked into her lobe, feeling the prick of its back against her thumb, the discomfort of it bringing her back to earth, to this moment, to her perfect dreary life in this perfect dreary town. “I will admit,” she said reluctantly, “while Lilith has her purpose here, her place, I’ve... struggled to find that. Which is no fault of hers nor of mine, simply a virtue of our situation. I’ve never lived anywhere so quaint before. I thought Chicago was small, coming from London. Chicago!” She laughed, a surprised, melodic sort of noise.

“All of this to say – I’m looking for my next project, and well. I’m sure you were joking,” she said quickly, hastily, backtracking. “You’re a businessman, you don’t just go investing in people you barely know. But. Well. A restaurant, it could be fun for Wade, don’t you think?”

[helenofwade]

ettaromero·:

     Etta purses her lips, thinking of the gummy vitamin bear she stress chewed this morning and sighs. “The bottle says it has vitamins and shit in it. And it was two dollars less than the other kind.” She’s a journalist who has to live with her uncle who owns said paper she’s writing for. She’s barely being paid enough to buy socks.

The touch to the shoulder causes an involuntary flinch from Etta. Having grown up with little affection she isn’t very trusting of it when it’s dished out. Even if it’s from someone like Waverly. “Coffee has water in it. I’m fine, really. And the scene is still fresh so maybe I can find something the cops won’t.”

However, at the mention of an actual meal, her stomach decides to be a traitorous little bastard and gurgle out in some dark famished language. Sighing heavily, Etta pinches the bridge of her nose before caving in. She had already planned to break in far later to get her hands on some information. “As long as that meal includes curly fries.”

Waverly had a lot of things on the tip of her tongue: Etta wasn’t a detective, she wasn’t even a journalist with any real kind of credibility, she was just a girl stuck in a small town with a twisted obsession and a wounded heart, and perhaps, just perhaps, it wasn’t her job to solve any of this, just to process it, but, well, Waverly knew how people around here felt about honesty. And frankly, she wasn’t bored enough to drum up that kind of chaos.

“I’m no savage,” she said, with mock affront. “Who goes to Red’s without getting curly fries?”

She smoothed down her black pleated skirt, flipped her hair off her shoulder, and looked to Etta, expectant. “Well? Shall we?”

[helenofwade]

oracleurchin·:

Time hadn’t stopped since Josie’s body had disappeared, even if it felt like it should have.

Frankie hadn’t slept since the previous morning, and at the point she was at, it seemed like she had no choice but to stay awake until at least the end of the work day. For her, that meant finishing out the day at the apothecary, and then manning the counter at Spins until midnight. The grips of exhaustion had been the motivating factor in her driving over to Red’s, anyway: she reasoned that the short drive would perk her up a little, and that a cup of black coffee from the diner would help revive her, just a little. She’d been decidedly wrong on the car ride – she’d almost blown clear through a red light, and probably wouldn’t be good to get back behind the wheel until she’d had at least two cups. The coffee helped a little, but not as much as she’d hoped. 

Frankie thought she might’ve had a tab of LSD hiding somewhere in her car’s glove compartment, and made a mental note to dig around for it when she eventually got back into the car. A fifth of a tab could help – she hoped – perk her up enough to finish out the shift at the apothecary.

There was no way to be sure how long the woman beside Frankie had been talking to her when she finally noticed, and she tried to piece together what it was they’d been talking about. Frankie recognized the woman as being the wife of the Reverend, but couldn’t place her name. “Definitely,” Frankie replied, turning her bleary-eyed expression onto the other woman, and doing her best to pretend that she knew what she was talking about. “We – uh, my Grams and me – would help out.” Frankie had missed the first part about what they were signing up for, but she’d keyed in on Red Johnson and “collective hearts.” “Whatever we can do.”

Waverly knew when she was being listened to and when she wasn’t. And while she felt the sharp prickle of annoyance under her skin, she knew, realistically speaking, that this whole town was in a daze. People were mourning, their hearts were bruised, and they were trying to figure out how to pick themselves up, dust themselves off, and move forward. She almost felt sorry for the young girl. Almost. Would have been able to muster some more pity if the redhead had...y’know...been paying attention.

But no one would be able to tell the way annoyance licked at her heels from looking at her, a perfect look of sorrow and sympathy knitting her brows together and turning her pink lips down into a frown.

"Are you alright, darling?” she asked gently, the posh lilt of her accent reminding her so abruptly of her mother. “You look...” Disheveled? Unkempt? Sickly? A tinge green? “You look sad,” she settled on finally because it was honest and the least offensive thing she could think of under a time crunch. “Understandably so, I can’t think of a single reason to not be sad right now.” 

She flicked her gaze back to the young woman, eyebrows arching in curiosity as she asked, “Did you know the Johnsons well?” It seemed as though everyone here did, everyone here but her. She’d never made an effort. Never saw the point. Even now, she didn’t see the point, but here she was, trying to get people to help her help them feel better, all in the name of being liked, all in the name of being praised. It was fake, the lot of it, and she wasn’t sure there was anything this girl could say to her that would make the whole thing less performative, but hey, she was more than happy to be proven wrong.

[helenofwade]

promqxeen·:

Spinning slowly on her chair, delicately and purposefully, like a doll on the top of a music box, not a hair out of place. With her arm coming to rest on the bar, she regarded the woman beside her carefully, always watching, always assessing. So cold and calculating she was. Intending for something to be stolen only applied if it wasn’t that person stealing it. “It’s what some people say, sure. Those that believe he is faultless.” The implication being that she did not, or at least wanted Waverly to believe that.

Looking around the room as the woman gestured around she couldn’t agree more, while the owners had really turned it around from the dump it used to be, it still left much to desire. At least for her, but by anyone’s standards it could sure use some better taste. “Interesting yes.” And that is exactly what it had been, interesting to everyone regardless of what they thought. Everyone was talking about it, even the radio station, it was certainly a far cry from the mundane normalcy that they were all used to.

“Because we wouldn’t want the town to think I didn’t care.” There was something about the other that Vi liked, but couldn’t quite place it. Was it the attitude? Or that she wasn’t some holier than thou nut? There was a certain amount of genuineness to her words, but there was always something more with her, and she wasn’t the type to play all her cards at once. And it raised an excellent question of her own, “So what brings you here then? Because to me, you seem not as emotionally distraught as everyone else.” A statement, a matter of fact, yet something that Vi didn’t seem to mind. Whereas others would call the two of them heartless, maybe even cold and unfeeling. Lifting her glass of coke to her lips, she was almost certain the woman had seen her adding some of the contents of her flask to the drink, but she was curious as to whether or not she would stop her from drinking it.

Sometimes, Waverly forgot that there were people in Wade who could keep up with her. She liked to picture herself as some withering rose, alone in a glass case, but that certainly wasn’t the case, far from it, in fact. It was simply the most romantic, and thus, the most tragic thing she could think of to describe her circumstances.

The thought tended to make her territorial – it was so much less clean if she couldn’t martyr herself, if she had to acknowledge that her feelings were not unique, just to her and her alone. But tonight, she was grateful that the suffocating void of decent company was being filled by someone at least tolerable. And, if she saw what she thought she saw, someone who didn’t mind making things interesting. She wondered how old this girl was. Certainly not old enough to buy herself a drink. Hence the flask.

“I’m here, same reason as you,” Waverly said, a glint in her eye, nodding her thanks to the bartender as her drink appeared and she sucked down a mouthful through the tiny black straws. Not enough lime. She grimaced. “It’s a farce, this whole place. You show up to a thing like this, you gather as much empathy as you can muster, and then you hope that you’ve ingratiated yourself enough that these people don’t plot your murder behind your back.” Why she was being so honest with a stranger, she couldn’t say. But it felt...nice to be seen. As much as Waverly would like to pretend that her facade was all there was, sometimes she needed to acknowledge the hunger, the rage, underneath it all. Otherwise it could become unbearable.

“Who’s going to tell them?” she said under her breath, glancing back around at all of the mourners around them. “That their grief is as much of a performance as our sympathy...”

[helenofwade]

When: April 26th, 4:30pm Where: McDermott Residence Who: @rhysjkingsbury​​

Waverly didn’t miss the life she had in London, but god she missed the city, the pace of it, the people, the little nuances you couldn’t find anywhere else. Kensington still was even more specific – her earliest, most vivid memory was being all dolled up for tea time with her mother’s group of friends and their children, all around her age, and ever since, there had always been a fondness, a nostalgia, for proper English tea, with the finger sandwiches and scones and pots of steaming hot Earl Grey. And sure, no one ever refused when she declared she was gong to be hosting afternoon tea, but no one here, not even her wife, understood the sentimentality of it, the ritual of it.

When Rhys Kingsbury blew into town, Waverly knew she had to befriend him, if not for this alone: some inborn understanding, some shared, communal history.  And when Waverly set her mind to something, even a goal as small as this, she rarely, if ever, failed.

They’d had this date, so to speak, scheduled for weeks now – Waverly had double checked with Rhys’ assistant a few days prior, making sure the man hadn’t double booked her – and while it wasn’t exactly the best timing, what with the funeral, she was hard pressed to find a reason to move it to a different day. So Josie Johnson was missing. She’d already been dead before. The world would keep turning. And Waverly had no intention of postponing the only engagement on her social calendar she actually might enjoy.

Four-thirty on the dot, and she heard the doorbell chime. A giddy little smile curled its way at her lips – punctuality was a virtue she oh so admired.

“I’m sure this place is smaller than what you’re used to,” Waverly said as she opened the door to allow Rhys inside. “But, well, I can hardly welcome you to Wade in your own home, can I?” She ushered him into the living room, where two three-tiered trays sat opposite each other on the coffee table: cucumber mint and cranberry chicken finger sandwiches arranged neatly on a white doily on the first, raspberry lemon scones with salted honey butter on the second, and bite sized carrot cakes and walnut fudges on the top, final tier. It had taken her most of the day, but, well, what else did she have to do? Where her wife was, she had no idea, and frankly, she hoped Rhys didn’t ask.

“I may have gone a little overboard,”she said, sheepish, her excitement evident. “It’s just– sometimes I forget how nice it is to have afternoon tea. And I thought you, of all people, would be able to appreciate that.”

[helenofwade]

ettaromero·:

     Receiving the comment that now is not the time simply pulls an eye roll from the journalist. There is never a right time for anything. But Etta wants to look at much of the place as possible while everything’s still fresh. Maybe someone left something behind in haste that they’ll cover up later? She’d definitely coming back when the sun sets. She has to get her hands on Josie’s file here and the list of employees so she can weed out who would’ve helped with the body haul.

She has fallen into deep thought again before a question is sent her way. Etta blinks a couple times before dark irises look up at Waverly. She mentally tries to figure out the last time she ate but lately her diet has been mostly black coffee, cigarettes, and takis from the newspaper’s shitty vending machine. “Does a multi-vitamin count?”

“Only if it’s an actual pill, not a gummy,” she said, twinkle of amusement in her eye, because, really, those chewable things didn’t count. They were just candy rebranded.

Waverly stepped closer, friendly hand resting on the other woman’s shoulder, because, well, that’s what people did, wasn’t it? Comfort in times of crisis? “I understand the temptation to stay here and scrutinize, I really do, but a clear head and a focused mind are what you need right now. Not staying here, surrounded by all this noise, probably a little dehydrated.”

She tipped her head, gentle, thoughtful. “How about accompanying me to the diner? A hot meal,” some water, “could do us both some good.”

[helenofwade]

Where: Red’s Diner When: April 26th, 2:36pm

“I was thinking of starting a list.”

Waverly spoke without provocation in the middle of her meal, turning to the person sitting next to her at the counter. “A rotation, of sort. Everyone could sign up for certain days, that way the burden doesn’t fall all onto one person. Bringing things to the Johnsons. You know, groceries, supplies, maybe even just a friendly face to say hello and check in.” She frowned, eyes flicking down to the floor. “It could be stupid. I don’t know.” The sincerity was surprisingly devoid of true care. She was bored and needed a project, and it seemed that she was trapped here forever in this hell, so might as well spruce the place up. Kindness could look good on a town like this at a time like this.

“All I’ll say is this: I think we could all use something uplifting in our lives, no one more than Red Johnson, and what better way to soothe the collective heart than to soothe his?”

She glanced over at her companion, eyes flickering up and down the person’s face. Waverly was a social animal, struck up conversations with anyone who stepped within a ten foot radius of her. Whether she enjoyed them or not was an entirely different question, but that didn’t stop her from speaking to every person she came in contact with until she found someone who didn’t bore her.

However, this particular conversation, this particular day, she was playing a game of hers that had only begun after the McDermotts had moved to Wade, a game that had become a recent obsession––

Who here, in this place, has fucked my wife?

[helenofwade]

When: April 25th, 6:17pm Where: McDermott Residence Who: @reveritus​​

When Waverly didn’t know what to do with her hands, she cooked.

Tonight, it was lamb shanks with pomegranate and walnuts, fat reduced to a decadent sauce drizzled on top, with a chickpea, barley, and feta salad served cold on the side. Pop the cork on a 2013 Zinfandel, pour two hefty servings, plate to perfection, and voila. Dinner is served.

She’d come back from the funeral and the drama that came after it feeling wholly unsettled and deeply unnerved. As if the murder wasn’t bad enough, as if the rumors of cannibalism spreading through the town like wild fire wasn’t that much worse, here they were now, trapped in suburban hell in a town that was tearing itself apart. Chicago was a mere car ride away. They could be back in their old apartment, or something just like it, by morning if they wanted to be.

Lilith, she knew, would take leaving as some sort of sign of defeat, an affront to her pride, but Waverly knew it to be anything but weak to follow your survival instincts. They were there for a fucking reason, she wanted to snarl, but instead, she just shaved some parmesan over the salad, and tried to ignore the way her muscles coiled, like a bird ready to take flight.

She untied her apron, hung it back up on the hook in the pantry, and caught a glance of herself in the reflection of the oven. Whoever said you had to stop trying once you got married was dead wrong. Waverly had never tried harder in her life, pulling the neckline of her shirt low, pushing her tits up in her bra, flattening the pleats of her skirt, smoothing down her silky dark hair. All she wanted was to see the hunger in Lilith’s eyes, to know she was hers, and after all these years of marriage, well, let’s just say she knew her wife well.

The twist of the lock. The schwick as the front door swung shut. Footsteps, unmistakable, walking down the hall. The rush of the faucet, the squirt of soap. Waverly sat, patient, at one end of the table, a vision in mauve – to match the wine, to match the sunset, to match the blood of a sacrifice, of a funeral. Food waiting at perfect temperature for her wife – who was two minutes late. Dinner’s at 6:15 xx was the text she’d sent two hours ago.

Lilith walked in, and, frankly, on a day like today, Waverly felt a spike of wrath, sharp and bitter, rise up within her at the way her heart came undone just at the sight of her. It was pathetic, was what it was. Who knew where Lilith had been or frankly, who she’d been with? They’d been together at the funeral, at the wake to follow, but then there had been no wake, and Waverly had lost her in the crowd, and god, she couldn’t do this anymore, the lies, the deceit, the games–

But then, she smiled. Picturesque. Rage was for savages, and she would not be savage, not today, not right now.

She wasn’t above being petty, though.

“You’re late,” she said because she was nothing if not exacting. “Understandably so. Given...everything. But you still owe me two minutes.” She did this sometimes (all the time) – keep a ledger of things Lilith had taken from her, a detailed list of everything she’d sacrificed, which she intended for her wife to pay her back, with interest. She smiled, playful, coy, hoping to soothe whatever storm was within her partner before it even came to pass, flipping her dark curtain of hair over her shoulder, exposing the angle of her jaw, the length of her neck, because they were nothing if not creatures of habit, and Waverly knew what Lilith liked.

She waited for for her wife to sit, take her spot at the opposite end of the table. Then, blinking her deep, brown eyes, pursing her pink stained lips, she asked, “Would you like to say grace?”

[helenofwade]

If Waverly could have it her way, she wouldn’t even be here to begin with.

But she hadn’t had it her way, and she had to make the best of it. She knew how people talked, how whispers spread through this town like wildfire, and she would be damned if people had anything but glowing praise to say about her. Skipping out on the town pity party because it all felt a little pointless was, of course, the easiest way for rumors to flare. And so, Waverly was here, at the town drinking hole, pretending to enjoy the ambiance when all this place did was make her feel like she was trapped in some tacky interior designer’s version of hell.

Her drink was taking longer than she fucking thought it would, and all she really wanted was to be seen and get out of here, so she elbowed her way up to the bar to see what was taking so long making her vodka soda.

“I don’t think Red intended for his wife’s body to be stolen,” she said coolly to the blonde sitting at the bar, who, almost certainly was too young to be here, but, well, who was Waverly to judge? “His wife is dead, and he’s in pain. Cut the man a break.” Isn’t that what people say?

After flagging down the bartender, who just gave her an apologetic sorry, we’re swamped, you’re next, I promise sort of shrug, she turned back to the young girl and continued, “You can’t say it hasn’t been an interesting few weeks in Wade, I’ll give you that. Normally this place is so...” She gestured around, as if to say look at this place.

Normally, she wasn’t so forthright about her feelings. Her disdain, her snobbish judgement of this town and those in it. But something about this girl made Waverly think she didn’t have to keep all of that to herself for once.

“Anyways, why come here and surround yourself with all of these people if you think the whole thing is a crock of shit?”

WHERE : Conifer Lounge WHEN : Around 8pm. WHO : Open

She’d not been planning on going to the funeral, emotions were annoying at the best of times and having to deal with people that were genuinely grieving, as well as those that were perhaps not so genuine in their grief. But her parents had insisted, to which she, of course, had refused, but the whining and lamenting about how unempathetic she was, gave her cause to roll her eyes and inevitably don her best sleek black dress. Yes, it was a funeral to mark the death of someone ( Jodie was it, no Joselyn, no thats not it either. Fuck she knows it begins with a J ), but she would be damn sure she’d be the best-looking person there. She usually was in any situation, at least in her opinion. 

The events that found them all on the sodding wet lawn of the funeral home was a mild curiosity, something to pass the time other than pretending to care that people were upset. Hearing the suggestion that everyone should go home made her look a little annoyed. Great she blended in, others were upset, confused and annoyed for not knowing what was happening. Vi however, was annoyed because she’d just wasted her whole day. Perfect. She’d followed some others to Conifers Lounge, arms propped lazily on the bar top she ordered a simple glass of coke, how positively mundane for her some might think. But it was only when the bar tender turned to serve someone else that she slipped the matte black flask from her bag. She never left home without it, pouring a rather generous amount of alcohol into her glass she used her finger to stir it in, a satisfied grin, a familiar thing, sliding into place. Much better.

Seeing the shadow of somebody standing far too close for her comfort she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Red certainly knows how to spoil the town. First the celebration, now the funeral. Such theatrics.” It was time to have some fun, if she was going to have to socialise than she would sow the seeds of discourse as she did. “A shame really when the whole town was there to support the family.”

[helenofwade]

Waverly didn’t know what to do with grief. It wasn’t a productive emotion, just taking up space like a weed that needed to be rooted out, but she wasn’t so callous to think that these people, this town, was foolish for feeling it. She was the kind of person who always always needed to say the right thing or do the right thing, and tragedy like this made that right thing so intangible, it left Waverly sitting in her own profound discomfort, and that was the last emotion she wanted to parse.

“Etta,” she said, as kindly as she could. “Perhaps...now isn’t the time.” Her eyes flickered to the other woman’s notes, hastily scribbled, but brimming with a sort of obsession that Waverly could understand. She knew what it was like to get swept up in the current of something you barely understood. “Have you eaten anything today?” That was a question people asked, wasn’t it?

Waverly’s whole life was a performance. Time’s like this, however, she was faced with the acute knowledge that she didn’t always know what her role was.

     A body can’t just vanish and Josie can’t simply get up and walk away after having enough bits of her cut out for lab testing. It should scare Etta, should at least strike some fear within the brunette but if anything it lights a fire instead. Watching people filter out, Etta decides she’d rather stay and snoop around. She darts her eyes around as she moves to the coffin, peering inside at the white silk insides and hums. Putting her hand inside she knocks on it as if looking for a trap door. Maybe someone flipped a switch and Josie slid into the basement. But why would someone do that? Who would want her body gone? There has to be someone behind this, someone covering their tracks, someone with enough power and money to pull all of this off. Etta is furiously scribbling down what she can, what she hears, taking pictures of the coffin, and having a million different thoughts running around in her head. “Where’d you go Josie- who took you?” She whispers it more to herself than anyone in particular.

[helenofwade]

intro post for this demon! a brief bio under the cut as well as some random fun facts. full biography here if anyone wants to take a gander. wanted connections to come, but hit me up wherever to get threads going!! or if you just want to soliloquize about gemma chan’s everything...

QUICK INTRO:

daughter of a stunt man and a parental help guru, waverly grew up thinking her parents hung the moon and each one of the stars, carted from exotic location to exotic location, seeing more of the world than most people do in their lifetime

as most things do, it all came crashing down around her when she least expected it: divorce, it seems, was plucked out of a hat like a rabbit and no one was surprised but her

leo lu left, always the nomadic one, leaving waverly stuck with her mother, hope, and her mother’s chavvy, age-inappropriate boyfriend, ollie, and as if that wasn’t miserable enough, hope took it upon herself to reinvigorate her career after her divorce

there’s a series of parenting books out there in the world, mostly popularized in the UK, detailing all of hope lu’s observations about her daughter, what it meant to raise someone so stubborn, so unyielding, what it meant to really repair the bonds of motherhood and daughterhood. too bad hope could never take her own advice

waverly moved out the second she could, accepting a spot in northwestern’s class of 2004, studying journalism with a minor that was constantly changing: in fashion freshman year, classics sophomore year, food & hospitality her junior year, biochem, for no good reason, her senior year, and so, she graduated with no minor at all. all of which, a pretty good summation of her life: constantly unable to decide, flitting from interest to interest, hobby to hobby at the speed of a humingbird

waverly had no idea who she was, only who she was pretending to be, when she graduated from college. she took the summer off, spent it with her father in italy, learned nothing new about herself, tried to go to culinary school, failed out of that, and really was about to consider moving back home with her mother when she met lilith mcdermott and everything changed

their whirlwind relationship ended in marriage, ended in waverly moving to wade with lilith, pretending she was happy about it, pretending she was an equal part decision maker, pretending she’d grow to love a town this small and insignificant

and now that she’s here, she’s having freaky deaky dreams dawg

RANDOM FACTS:

her food blogging content is entirely inspired by allison roman & priya krishna but her persona is way more andy baraghani. please come scream about how bon apetit is the only thing getting me through quarantine in my dms

waverly was a competitive figure skater until she was sixteen, when she broke her foot trying to impress a girl she had a crush on because literally this is what happened to me

allergic to raw carrots, but eats them anyways

has never seen a single star wars movie

planted a peach tree outside of the mcdermott house and tends to it like its her literal child

tells people she’s a terrible driver because she’s british, but really it’s because she’s gay

she too had an armie hammer-esque scandal where she didn’t know her twitter likes were public and everyone saw her looking up different strap ons to buy her girlfriend for their anniversary

die hard liverpool fan, does not understand any american sports, refuses to understand them

cannot articulate to you how much she loves a bubble bath

has one (1) nipple pierced

bought a ring light not for selfie but for nudes

MAIN PAGE BIO (if she were to have one and really, it’s here because it adds to the mfuckin vibe, and we all know all i care about is the vibe):

When two people love each other and can’t make it work, now that’s a real tragedy.

You used to judge women who let their husbands walk all over them, who lied to themselves to keep their marriages in tact, who didn’t have the backbone to get a divorce. You thought to yourself, don’t stay together for the sake of the kids. I’m one of those kids. I was better off when my parents split. And now, you’re one of them.

It wasn’t always like this. You ran away from your first cage, from the mother who wanted to own you, commodify you, consume you, and you called yourself free. You became Perfect. A Modern Woman. Somehow both effortlessly beautiful, effortlessly intelligent, but baby, effortless is the last thing it is. Being this cultivated, like a piece of art hanging in a museum, it takes real work, real effort, and frankly, who are you outside of your facade? What makes your insides tick, your heart stutter, your mind wonder?

She was the one who answered that for you. God is a woman, indeed. You fell in lust at first sight and then in love very quickly after, and the rest, it was all just a snowball of the first real, true feeling you’d felt in your whole goddamn life. So, she asked you marry her, and you said yes because you love her. She asked you to move to a town you’d never heard of in a state that doesn’t matter, and you said yes because you love her.

You don’t tell her you hate it here, that you’re so angry you could scream. You don’t tell her you know she’s been unfaithful because problems don’t exist if you put them in a box and lose the key. You pace around your cage, let your claws be clipped, let your teeth be filed, and you smile for pictures and pretend to be sweet and docile and perfect.

But really, you’re just one wrong step away from ripping someone’s throat out.

[helenofwade]

[helenofwade]

Gemma Chan in I Am Hannah

[helenofwade]

Augusten Burroughs, This Is How