hiten-chettair

[hiten-chettair]

wvnnies​:

    disturbing someone at this ungodly hour had been a conscious decision on her part. after all, what better way to startle an honest reaction, or perhaps a poorly-reasoned one, than to speak with a person before they even had a chance to open their eyes to the world? a cheap trick, perhaps, but it’s one that’s served her purposes well enough before.

    but she should have known better than to assume that her same and simple ploys would work on hiten. she watches as their eyes meet hers, travel to the steaming, white-cloth covered basket dangling from her delicate palm, and then meet hers once again, with that familiar grin.

    she’s skilled at reading the elephants in a room. she’s even more skilled at ignoring them.

    “of course i remember your dietary concerns, hiten,” wynnie says, and pastes a grin upon her features to match their own. “i assure you, not even a hint of egg or milk rests in these.” the replacement ingredients were simple enough, nothing that almond milk and olive oil couldn’t fix. hiten’s preferences are just another memory tucked securely away in her mind, another file pulled out of storage whenever she needed to conjure some type of edge to get her foot in the door. she cocks her head to the side, summoning up the words that she had prepared on her drive over to the trailer park. “i thought that i might bring these to you and share a meal with you, in the wake of what’s happened to our poor town. community is so very important in times like these, don’t you agree?”

Hiten inwardly groaned. Of course she had. They had to remind themselves that Wynnie would always be ready for any kind of situation. A chameleon who knew how to change colour to sooth the needs of others. But more dangerous than a chameleon. A jaguar who would smile a toothy grin, and speak with words that would never make you think twice about their intentions. Even if they had learned to see right through that, they knew it was only because they had played at a similar game. Though her game was grander, their intentions had seemed small and insignificant by comparison. 

Poor town, community, they hated those words, but they knew why she used them. They couldn’t think of a good response. Being angry was their new natural state, but finding the right words to scare someone off was still something they needed more practice at. And fucking Wynnie always caught them off guard. But letting her in to their humble above was not something Hiten intended to do, so they gestured at the white plastic seats and the beat up table in front of the trailer. “Have a seat,” they said, charming smile back on their face as they waited for Wynnie to follow their implication. They ducked back in to get some throw-away plates and plastic cups. Then walked over to the table themselves. 

“You going around all the Shady Lakes residents, or should I feel special for your undivided attention?” they asked, a kind smile still on their lips, but venom in their words. Back in the day they had thought the world of Wynnie, or at least someone with similar intentions, now they wished they’d had the information to call her out when still in church. What good would their words do now? Nobody would believe a wolf when they called out a snake for being dangerous. 

[hiten-chettair]

chiefmackenzie​:

She didn’t want to be here. That much was obvious. Nobody enjoyed talking to the police on a good day, and this was far, far from any sort of good day. But, there was a dead body to consider–one with too much damage to be accidental so he had to be here. Where he didn’t want to be. Small towns were supposed to have small town problems, nothing like this. But, Chet was nothing if not dedicated and like a true bloodhound; he planned to get to the bottom of this.

Because he had to.

Of course, such answers would not be easily found; the job would not be easy–if it was, he wouldn’t have this much coffee coursing through his veins. He recognizes Hiten on their approach and inwardly groans. The kid’s kind, good upstanding folk–the kind of role model and figurehead the people of Shady Lakes needed. Maybe took ‘em for granted but that was the curse of any good natured soul. 

Outside, looking in. He closes his notepad with pointed volume. 

He’s the outsider, watching their exchange with an outwardly impassive visage. Inwardly, there’s a hint of longing. What would it be like, he couldn’t help but wonder, to be a part of something like that? To have someone like that in his life. 

“Hiten,” he says by way of greeting, tone flat as Ms.Riveria retreats and he’s back to square zero “You know why I’m here.”

Simple statement, no answers. A soft sigh that does nothing for the exhaustion creeping into his bones. He feels about forty years older than he is. The loss that hangs like a shroud over the town weighs him down, the death–the unknown body sinks its skeletal claws deep. “The people of Shady Lakes are, unfortunately, overlooked by and large by the community,” he intones dully “Which is both a boon and a curse,” why talk of curses why now why now with all this darkness and evil “Meaning there’s a good chance they’ve seen or heard something that another soul in those more alphabetically correct places would ignore or…misunderstand.”

Panic and fear made fools of them all.

His gaze softens as he flips open the notepad himself, pen now hovering over the page “How about it then? Care to give your account of the previous evening? Maybe you can help me get this over quickly and painlessly for everyone here so I can leave you folks be.”

If Hiten could describe their own function at Shady Lakes, it would be the spokesperson. They after all had still some unsevered connections to the good parts of Wheeler. Not to mention really enjoyed the attention to their person in particular. They could handle it, was what they always answered if someone offered to take care of a situation. They could handle this as well.

With their attention on the chief of police, they could sense some of the unease with the population behind them seeping away, and some of them returned to their trailers or went on their way to work. A few stayed behind, but not to offer them any assistance should they need it, simply because they were curious to see what was going to happen. At times they would take their passivity personal too, feel like if they had been born here, they might come to their rescue. But everyone was on their own when the cops were involved. Too many people with too many secrets. Nobody wanted their trailer raided, nobody knew exactly what the cops would find - or what they would incriminate them with. It was a constant fear, which was why now the chief of police choosing them over the rest of the town felt wrong. 

But Hiten couldn’t blame the police either. In comparison to the other neighbourhoods, the people of Shady Lakes were about at all hours, the backbone of the community, but also those with the keenest senses, those who wouldn’t stand up for their fellow townspeople. The ones who might share the right information because they held no love for the town. 

Some of what they might share were based on rumours, but one could be certain that someone from Wheeler had seen something. 

However, given the circumstances, Hiten would rather that individual withe the right information go to the cops, than the cops coming to them. 

Hiten narrowed their eyes and smiled. “If anyone ‘round here has seen anything, I’ll make sure they get the message and come to you. Which you might’ve just ruined for yourself, since they probably think the police suspects one of them. Really bad move, chief,” they said, shaking their head. 

But Hiten would entertain him nonetheless. “I was at the Kleins yesterday evening,” they said. Smoking a joint with Paula and trying to forget what day it was, but even a good hangover from all the alcohol they had consumed could not make them forget that. “When I came back here everything was quiet enough.” They paused. “You suspect anyone of us, chief?” Because that would always be the most important question, the one that decided on whether Hiten would help with the investigation or not. 

Paula had given them up as a suspect when it came to Cassie’s disappearance, and they still remembered the foul taste in their mouth when they stood watching them search every inch of their trailer for proof.

[hiten-chettair]

nabcrnathys​:

Location: Goody Grocery Time: 9:12 PM Status: Open

The world kept moving despite a tragedy.

Something horrible could happen and you had to continue to do the most mundane day-to-day things. A death in the family. A horrible car accident. A fire taking away everything your family worked for – Noah had to pause and remind himself, ‘a church is not a building, a church is it’s people’ – The world didn’t care what is was. It would keep spinning. The sun would go up, and come down, and go up, and come down. You still had to renew your car insurance, pay your bills, go to the grocery store. So, in the midst of a tragedy it was always good to have somebody by your side who would help you with these mundane day-to-day things. Noah had decided to be that person for his father.

It was just that he was so busy currently, Noah couldn’t rightly sit by and have his father’s attention be split between dealing with the fire, the congregation, the panic, any new questions that were arising within the town, etc … The man needed a break. Or at least Noah would were he in his position. And if you knew anything about the congregation of First Assembly Baptist Church, or any congregation of a small town, you would know that meant that there were some members of the group that decided Noah was now running errands for the entire congregation.

That hadn’t really been his intention. But that didn’t stop him from leaning over his grocery cart in the parking lot of Goody Grocery late in the evening trying to decide if he should have bought more detergent, while listening to a voice note on his phone asking him to buy extra Peanut Butter so Mrs So-and-So could make Ants on a Log.

“Right,” he muttered to himself, while he put the groceries away. After shutting the trunk of his car, he grabbed the handle of the grocery cart spinning around to head back in and nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw another person a few feet away from him. “Goodness!” Noah said, taking a breath to settle his surprised nerves, and laughing weakly at his own jumpiness. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear anyone. I didn’t almost hit you with my cart, did I?”

Hiten was often the last anyone would call in town to fix something, if there really wasn’t anyone who would come last minute to someone’s home to fix a car light because they had to drive somewhere or jump start someone’s generator since it wasn’t working properly, or god-forbid someone needed wifi and their router was making a terrible noise and not doing whatever shit it needed to do. If there really wasn’t anyone who responded to their calls, then, and only then, would they call Hiten.

And Hiten would show up with the brightest of smiles on their face and throw a lot of incredibly well polished speech at their faces to make them feel awkward and intensely guilty for not having called them in the first place. Of course, they gladly pretended that such was not the case and they obviously were their first choice. Then fix it as quickly as they could, and request the usual, only to be given a good tip. You could trust god-fearing people to be guilty enough to break out their wallets. 

With a fifty dollar bill in their pocket, and once again a shirt ruined by sliding under a car to check if there had been fuel leaking, Hiten walked back to the parking, their keys already in hands. Out of nowhere they were almost hit in the hip by a grocery cart and were about to offer some unwarranted advice as they danced away from the impact, before the voice pulled them out of their rising anger. “I’m still pretty agile for someone my age,” they offered, grin slowly appearing on their face. “Though I would gladly fake an injury for your sake,” they said with a wink. Noah was that good little christian boy that Hiten could no longer be. 

[hiten-chettair]

thefallenfallon​:

Fallon blinked silently at the other, consumed by her blatant failure to pull the proverbial wool over Hiten’s eyes. She reached down sheepishly and plucked the bra off the ground. What she knew of Hiten was what she heard; such is life in a small town. She had heard of their struggle with the church and how the Jesus Freaks had treated them. As she stood there, eyes dancing around their face, she felt something. The small flame of a connection. Here they were, two sinners trapped; silently screaming in their own brand of hell.

“Wow, you really got me there, huh?” She grabbed the empty hanger off the rack and carefully hung the bra up before placing it  back between the shades of nudes and blacks. She turned back to them with a shrug. “It’s a habit, sorry. I’m tired of getting “the lecture” from every fucking Repent Rachel about my life choices.”  She chuckled softly, pretending to examine her nail beds. “Sometimes I think I can actually see the fire and brimstone twinkle in their eyes when they see me.” 

Well, at least she didn’t try to cover it up any further. Hiten hated people who lied - or bended the truth - it was much easier to enjoy the company of those who were being honest, or at least as honest as could be. They cocked an eyebrow, noticing her studying them, but didn’t comment on it. Hiten had once listened to the town’s gossip with interest, mostly to see if they were mentioned. Since leaving the church, whenever someone tried to reel them in on the latest, they tried to ignore it as much as possible. Whatever was said, they didn’t believe it. So if they had heard something about Fallon, they had ignored it. All that mattered was that she was probably just as much in this shit-show as they were. 

“What, you don’t like it?” they asked, pointing at the bra as she hung it back. “It is pretty rare to find anything good in here. I have five Star Wars shirts, and I’m pretty sure only one of them is actually really from Star Wars.” They sighed at her words, but while they wanted to not offer sentiment, it was hard not to when you were in the very similar situation. “Oh yeah, you’re definitely not imagining that. Pretty sure it is one of those superpowers you get from going to church and pretending you are interested in making the lives of others better,” they offered. “Which reminds me, I should buy one of those sprays they use on cats, next time a fucking Repent Rachel comes to my door, I can extinguish the fire. You want one too?” 

[hiten-chettair]

What's your favorite thing to tinker with?

“Tinker. Engines, especially the really old ones. I hate cars, but when you look at those old-timers that somehow still run, those car parts. Back then they were build to keep on driving,” Hiten suggested. Capitalism was destroying the world, and their interest in the idea of mechanics that would last, well, years of seeing things build to not-last, it was an easy wish for them to do. 

[hiten-chettair]

Do you think Cassie is alive?

“No,” they said, shrugging. They’d thought she was dead since two months into the investigation. If they ever found her, Hiten knew that all they would find was a corpse. But they did still harbour the smallest of hope, just the smallest, somewhere deep down. That they would find her, but that smallest hope was brutal, because it meant imagining what she had gone through during all those years, and they feared that was something they should not be wishing on her.

[hiten-chettair]

wilderxthings​:

By the time Irene was halfway through the number, her phone had already populated the remaining digits. Bobby Kline. She went through the motions of adding the rest of the number, tapping precisely as if it mattered in the slightest, and pocketed her phone directly after adding the next contact. So Bobby had a step-sibling. It was news to Irene, though she wasn’t sure if it should have been. Maybe that little piece of trivia had been lost amongst all the lack of communication between herself and the patriarch of the Kline family. Who could really say?

“I’ll make sure not to let it slip that you gave me his number. I appreciate it.” And she did, although she seemed rather unenthusiastic in all of her grim posturing. The dishwasher, however, was enough to pique her interest. “I can give you my address if you wouldn’t mind coming by to give it a look. It doesn’t seem to be leaking, but the noise… It’s a bit much.” The rattling, too, but they’d soon learn that for themselves.

While she originally expected that Hiten would take the money without much complaint, Irene was given pause when more than half her cash was handed back. It could’ve been considered insulting coming from anyone else, but they seemed genuine in their attempt to be fair. “A bottle f water doesn’t cost that much,’ she noted, though she accepted the cash and tucked it away in the same pocket where her phone had come to rest. “If you end up fixing my dish washer, you’ll end up with it anyway. But I can hang onto it for now. When would be a convenient time for you to come take a look at it?”

“Noises are usually a very good give-away that something is wrong,” Hiten said in response. The fact that she wanted them to look at it instead of their step-brother, well, that was a win. It was a few extra bucks, perhaps a new costumer they could count on. Hiten was always waiting for new opportunities, and in the city of Wheeler, the way they went about it, needed to be more under the radar. Which was why Gas ‘n Dash was a place they frequented. “Sure, that I can do,” they said with a confident smile. Being a ‘freelancer’ meant waiting on jobs or actively seeking them out, and Hiten felt like they got most of the tricks by now. 

Which included not taking more money than they deserved, because one never should face a surprise for getting too much payment. “That’s the idea, I don’t take what I haven’t earned yet,” they said, but took their phone out once again. Monday now, enough of the week left to go. “Any time Wednesday or Thursday,” they suggested. “I have a fairly flexible schedule.” They kept a grin from reaching their face at her pause when they gave more than half the money back earlier, the day Hiten did anything predictable had not yet come. Fixed a car, a dishwater at a later date, church burned down, pretty good Monday so far. 

[hiten-chettair]

maverickmads​:

Mads really should expect more weird shit in Wheeler now. First Cassie, then the church on fire, now this? What else was going to happen? Some asshole in a Jason mask comes to slash her guts out? Chris, if this was all some elaborate Biblical allusion Mads was going to be so annoyed. It’s not like it hasn’t been overdone, but all of this was going on for what? What was the end game? She supposed she shouldn’t question it too much while it wasn’t her problem. Clearly, this serial killer or whatever had a problem with the devout. Must be the corruption. Either way, Mads wanted a joint, fries, and a marshmallow blizzard and that was what she intended to get. 

Did she feel stupid with a dab pen? Yes. Did have one anyways so the smell was minimal? Also yes. She took a hit from the pen as she got out of her car, glancing over to Hiten. Their gaze met with hers, and she knew she’d want to talk about the damn fire with them as well. “Hey.” She greets with a nod. Pulling out the zippo lighter, she hands it over to them with a wry smile. “You think that’s the same lighter the church burned down with? You know, since people think I did it after all.” She rolled her eyes at the thought with a small laugh, sitting down next to them on their car.

Hiten grinned, took the lighter, and with the cigarette firmly between their lips, tried to light it against the soft summer wind that blew through the place. They cocked an eyebrow at her smile and gesture. It wasn’t surprising to say the least, the joke was well-timed and not to mention done at a very good time. They couldn’t help the sigh that followed, it wasn’t new certainly, this was how it was after all, they would always end up being investigated just for being rowdy. Yet, she had it worse. Hiten could barley speak of a record, meanwhile Mads had been in and out so often... well. If they had been a cop, they would’ve also lifted an eyebrow at her record. If there was still one, Hiten had no idea how Mads’ parents always got her out. They didn’t ask. 

“Did someone bother you about it?” they asked, an edge to their voice as they handed back the zippo. While Hiten had always been careful about getting caught doing something stupid or rebellious, they knew it wasn’t as easy anymore now. They had no love for the town, and didn’t pretend the town had any love for them anymore. Yet, Hiten was protective in nature, and they did not for a second even entertain the idea that Mads was behind it. “You know I will kick their ass if they did.” 

[hiten-chettair]

Ask away!

[hiten-chettair]

chiefmackenzie​:

@hiten-chettair

He could still smell the smoke. 

No matter how much black coffee he knocked back, whether it be from the machine in his office or handed off to him with eyes pleading (information, safety, please, please please) at the diner. He’s lucky he kept a spare uniform in his truck, changing at the office inbetween mugs two and three. There’s comfort to be found in it, the uniform; not the coffee–and in a way it’s a mindset beaten into him over the years. Armour. The coffee can’t chase away the bitter taste on his tongue. 

He exchanges the truck for one of the squad cars, the small station doesn’t have many and they’re outdated when stacked up against the military standard that the big cities seemed to have. As if Wheeler was little more than an afterthought. 

Chet supposed he should be grateful that they thought about them at all.

He slows the car to a crawl just outside of Shady Lakes. Already he’s dreading the day, and it’s not even noon. He’d  made some calls ahead of time, the few who answered spoke in fear. Hostility in others. They loathed the very fact that he was calling, because that meant that he thought they were a suspect. Just covering all my bases, didn’t cut it. Pinching the bridge of his nose as if he could ward off the headache. The migraine. 

It was going to be a long day.

As if they’d been waiting for him, there’s a small gaggle of folks at the entranceway. He can already feel their gazes. Closing the door behind himself, he withdraws the small notepad and unclips a pen from his breast during his approach. “Mornin’ folks,” he says by way of greeting, he doesn’t fuck around with injecting false cheer–the mood is still sombre “Thank for agreeing to speak with me.”

“As if we had a choice.” 

There’s always a choice. He doesn’t say, bites back whatever else he had to say. No smile graces his lips. He tilts his cap a bit back from his face, the sky was still overcast and grey. It fit the mood. He clicks his pen and he sees them flinch. “If you’ll just let me…” he lets out a little sigh “The questions are standard. You’re just the first stop of the day for me and I’m not saying I suspect anyone here.” 

He’s tired. 

What’s new.

“As I’ve said, just covering my basis…come on Ms.Riveria, I know you’ve got to get to work sometime soon so let’s get this over with so you can be on your way, yeah?”

She regards him warily, already in uniform for her day to start with one hand clasping her jacket closed tightly. She looks to one of her peers, he doesn’t make a move to pull her away. Merely lets her take her time. He gestures sidelong, a ways away to give them privacy and as she steps forward to follow him he gives her distance. He knows…in an ideal word the badge would be a source of comfort. A sign of safety. He knows its anything but. Especially in recent times. They stop just out of hearing range and he begins to ask his questions. 

If and when things happened, the population of Shady Lakes Trailer Park, Wheeler’s favourite breeding place for scapegoats, were usually the first to be called and pointed out in line-ups. It came with the territory. Hiten had their own opinion about the individuals who lived there before they were forced to share their living arrangements. Tiny streets lined with trailers, some with nice little gardens, most looking terrible and uncared for. Its inhabitants were poor, angry mostly, or just didn’t have the energy to go find somewhere else to live. And despite it all, they had welcomed them with open arms. 

At least... as soon as Hiten started - whether on purpose or due to circumstance - to become the most outstanding individual in the trailer park, take all the interest away from the others. It wasn’t difficult really, for all their spunk and shouting, none of them really wanted to get into more trouble. They just wanted to live their lives. 

Hiten on the other hand, was still angry. Whenever someone came here, whether it was the cops or people from the church, they felt like it was personal. 

And the residents of Shady Lakes had caught up on that fairly quickly. They had heard the commotion, and made their way towards the park’s entrance, their clothes filthy from the motor they had just finished fixing, a frown deep on their face. 

Soon as the small crowd caught sight of them, they make way for them to walk through the crowd towards the police officer.

Hiten was unsure of which police officer they would have to deal with, they only saw the police car, had only gotten the messages, they would deal with it. 

The chief of police had taken Ms. Riveria aside, and was asking her questions, while the lady was clearly distress and annoyed, probably on her way to work. What else was new. 

They closed in on both, thought about what would be the ideal way of getting the chief away from Shady Lakes as quickly as possible, but mostly take the attention away from the residents behind them. “Once again it baffles me that the first place the Police thinks of calling and visiting when anything happens is Shady Lakes. I would think that... you know, based on alphabet, we would come in pretty late,” they said, their voice harsh. “You okay, Ms. Riveria? You got a long shift today? Need anyone to drop you off? Ricky will drive you, I know the church burning down must’ve been a great shock for you, how about I ask Mina for a small get-together tonight?” 

Ms. Riveria only nodded, before she hurried off quickly. 

“Anything else you need to know, chief?” they asked, crossing their arms.

[hiten-chettair]

holylvght​:

Smoke still clung to the town, settling in the pavement cracks in the form of ash. Mixing with dirt and debris. Fallen leaves he’d pray didn’t catch the ember’s warmth and burn down the whole town next. It seemed fitting didn’t it. First Assembly was the backbone of this small town, where prayers whispered in promise that it would never be anything more than holy. Even the sun still stood behind thick black clouds, painting the whole place an apricot evening.  

“It’s in poor taste and it’s not very appreciated.” It was rare Charles’ words strained as much as they did today, the way his teeth clenched around them. Holding them in, biting into the thickness of frustration. Not even sundown yet, and he assumed it must have been alcohol in Hiten talking. Or perhaps a different kind of lingering intoxication that lead their words to hold such arrogance. With the church, the anniversary. How could he blame them.

A deep breath, choking through the ash that burnt his throat prior Charles looks up. That softness prominent on his features, the kind that comes from the alcohol taste on his tongue. Hypocritical maybe. “If you need someone though Hiten, I’m here to talk. It’s a tough day for us all, I can only imagine- I’d rather you come to me, I know he church hasn’t always been there for you. And for that I’m sorry.”

Hiten cocked an eyebrow at that. Poor taste and not very appreciated were not things they dealt with regularly, as in tried to change their behaviour that this was no longer a problem. They had dealt with people telling them what to do for long enough, and when the church would no longer have them, Hiten simply did what they thought was best: be what they wanted them to be. A foul-mouthed heretic. Gave the church someone to focus on. They hated how those words came out, Charles had never gotten on the scolding tone with them, he seemed to take some distance, use some light words rather than trying to teach them something. 

But it didn’t last long, while those words gave them just the barest of pause, the words that followed caught them completely off guard. Pity. They hated how it felt in their stomach, they hated that softness on the other’s face. They felt a popped vein in their eyebrow, and stared at Charles for a long while. Multiple words and thoughts crossed their mind, but none felt good enough to stick. It was an underlying feeling of: why now? They had fought for Charles’ attention the past two years, had told nobody why they had left the church, why did he use this on them. now? Eyebrows fell over their eyes. “You are here to talk?” they asked, shaking their head. “And apologise in the name of the church. Must be my lucky day then.” 

[hiten-chettair]

holymouse​:

Dinah was a woman of routine, of carefully established paths and tracks to minimize uncomfortable or unexpected encounters. But the most important part of that routine, that place of silent refuge, was gone. She hadn’t been able to watch it fall, had barely come in sight of the flames consuming the beams and walls that had grown so dear to her before taking off. The next hours were a bit of a blur. She remembered crying, remembered locking the door to her room and hoping the noise of the television kept her mother from noticing, remembered grinding her teeth so hard that her head ached.

It would be time for work soon. Most people didn’t like the night shift but she liked the peace of it, liked that the few guests around wanted to talk to her as little as she wanted to talk to them. But before that she could do one thing, find one task to complete that would bring some good to this day. With hands and legs still shaky and exhausted from grief, she biked to the graveyard with flowers clenched tight in her fist. Something for her grandmother. It wasn’t as if Mama ever made her way there.

She’d only just started walking her bike up the small path when she heard the shout and flinched. If it hadn’t been for the familiar figure just in view she would have left, would have come creeping back when there was no one else around. Certainly no one who would yell in a cemetery. “Hiten?” The name felt almost unfamiliar on her tongue after all this time apart. “I- I’m sorry, I don’t want to intrude, but - Well, are you okay?”

Their hands were still shaking, their arms leaning on their knees, head down. They didn’t need to see who had approached them to hear from the voice who it was. Fond memories came forward mixed with the feeling of being stuck that they had lived with most of their lives. Images of kids chilling out after church on Sunday, having a great time together. A young blonde girl who clearly did not wish to be sucked in, or was doing well enough on her own. And them knowing that including her would work well for their reputation, inviting her with an over confident smile and promises of a good time. That voice brought them back to a time where things had been much easier, clearer. Where their plan had yet been completed, and it had all been about keeping face. Lead Alto of the church, the kind person who invited others to their little club, who had slowly grown protective over Dinah. 

Dinah, the girl who had made the church her second home, would could be found on the benches, reading her bible, big eyes, careful smiles. Hearing her say their name, it pushed that grief even deeper as it made place for their own problems. Or perhaps not their own problems, but those of their own creation. They looked up, anger set painfully in their stomach, their breathing was a disaster. “Dinah,” they said in response, teeth grinding together. 

They pushed themselves from the ground in one smooth motion, crossing their arms, hiding their shaking hands under their armpits. “Yeah, clearly I am fine,” they said, their tone accusing. The girl who loved the church, who had now lost the one place where she seemed most comfortable. “I would offer you a drink, but I know that’s not appropriate nor well-timed.” 

[hiten-chettair]

Time: 19.23, 16th of June, 2020 Location: Dairy Queen Parking Lot @maverickmads​

Hiten still had a headache. Too much alcohol and weed on one day, regrets the next, but an even larger void in their chest knowing why all of that had been consumed in the first place. Not the time to think about it. Not today. They were sitting on the hood of their car in the parking lot of Dairy Queen, an establishment where someone with his dietary restrictions really couldn’t have much. But the parking lot had always been a welcoming place, especially the last two years. A space for youth like them to hang out and share their general annoyance about the rest of the town. 

They rolled a cigarette absent-mindedly, while their attention was focussed within. They were too self-aware for their own good, at times that was, most times, they found judging was much easier because of it. 

Placing the cigarette between their lips, they watched as Mads walked into the parking lot. There were a good number of individuals who the citizens of Wheeler would easily point out as those responsible for the fire. The two of them could be considered as the arsonists. “You got a light?” they asked. 

[hiten-chettair]

wilderxthings​:

“Don’t go over forty. Got it.” Irene found it strange to be in a position where she was taking orders rather than dolling them out, but she wasn’t in a position to remark upon such a thing. Instead, she committed the note and the number to memory. She’d need a better fix or some new wheels soon – - hopefully, she’d procure the latter. There were already dreams of newer, modest sedans floating in her head by the time Hiten offered the number for a reputable dealer.

“Hold on. Just one second – -” It took all of a minute for Irene to fish her phone out of her purse, but she unlocked the device and readied her notes. “I’d like the number. And the number for your step brother.” If nothing else, it was better to be cautious and keep a network of numbers she could call in a pinch. Her grandmother had done the same thing with a Honey-Do list and a beaten-up magnet secured to a horrendous green fridge. Call in case of emergency. “I have a dishwasher that rattles whenever it starts up. Usually I don’t mind it, but it’s gotten… much louder lately.” It would be best, she figured, if Hiten could take a look at it. They’dfixed her car, so there was no sense in not trusting him with an appliance. The risk-reward was much easier to swallow in that situation.

As if she’d only just remembered the fee, Irene slipped her fingers into the breast-pocket of her button up. “Here’s this, too.” A fifty – - crumpled previously, but now folded neatly in half - – was handed over with little fanfare. “You can keep the change. I appreciate the help.”

Hiten hadn’t offered Bobby’s number, thought about it for just a moment, then shrugged and read it out loud anyway. Just extending the first name of both individuals, because while they weren’t sure if Irene was local or not, they didn’t want to put Bobby in the position just because of his last name. It wasn’t a problem they shared, despite how much their mother had wanted them to, Hiten had kept their own name. their father’s name was perhaps the only thing they had left. 

“You can call Theo any time that’s convenient, he never stops. Also, he will do anything to make a sale to people he doesn’t know, so I suggest you take advantage of that,” Hiten noted. “Also, if he asks, tell him you got his number from someone random in town, because I can never do a good thing for him without ending up with food on my porch that I don’t even eat,” they added. They nodded at the dishwasher problem, not their best field, but they had helped enough people around the Trailer Park to know something about appliances, not to mention the countless times that Hiten had gone along with Bobby to fix things. They didn’t think they would be as good ever, but they liked to try at least. “Doesn’t sound like a huge problem, I could come by and fix it,” they suggested. They would need to hear the sound though, they always felt a lot could be determined just by the sound of something. 

Hiten saw she was about to produce the money, and got out their wallet to pay her back the difference, a fifty bill was handed to them, together with the suggestion that they should keep the change. Now, as much as Hiten loved money as a way to cover their bills, that was as far as their love for it went. “Not to kill your kindness, but I can’t take that,” they said, producing two twenties as they took the fifty. “I only worked for what... fifteen minutes, so that’s ten dollars.” They handed back the two twenties. “And a got I bottle of water.” 

[hiten-chettair]

thefallenfallon​:

Where: Delvin’s Discount

When: Friday, June 19th 12:15 p.m.

Who: Open

Fallon had to order almost the entirety of her Ice House wardrobe online. There was no “decent” establishment in Wheeler that would ever dream of selling clear heeled platform pumps and the vanilla, Christian modesty undergarments that stocked their intimates section was almost laughable at times. However, Fallon couldn’t deny that Delvin’s prices fit her budget perfectly and there were sometimes small prizes of hot red lace or black velvet tucked between the beigey nude nursing bras and the off-white granny panties. 

She heaved a sigh as she scoured the clearance rack for anything remotely tantalizing. Cheap plastic hangers hurriedly scraped against the metal rack as she flipped through countless pairs of knickers that even her grandmother Sophie would have cringed at. Her excitement rose when she spotted a bralette pushed to the far corner of the rack. “God forbid the citizens see a lacy bra, huh?” she mused to herself before pulling the item off the rack and holding it up to her chest for consideration in a mirror nearby. She pursed her lips in contemplation, hardly realizing there were eyes on her. 

She lifted her contemplative gaze to meet the eyes of the other. Without thinking Fallon threw the bra to the ground in embarrassment. “Holy shit!” She tried to blink herself back into composure. Half startled and half mortified. “Sorry, I mean holy… shoot, sorry.”  She kicked the bra under the rack, making a mental note to pick it up later. “Hey, long time no see! Just getting some shoppin’ done, huh?” 

Hiten had never made much of an effort to buy their own clothing, whatever they got was either hand-down or church-wear. Old shirts and baggy jeans, or formal wear that made them look like the perfect son. Those they had left in the house before they left, gathering that their step-father would’ve probably thrown those away, and how they were always wiping their dirty oil-stained hands on their shirts, they would eventually have to buy some new ones. Delvin’s Discount was definitely the best possible place, at least the cheapest one. 

They were walking around, mostly just touching all the things that were hanging around, like they used to, when their mother dragged them there. It was easier being a terrible person now, nobody to be kind for. Hiten cocked an eyebrow when the found one of the dancers from the Ice House talking to herself, following by her throwing a bra to the floor and kicking it under the racks. “Oh, that is definitely going to solve the problem,” they commented. “Nice try though, I can see years of practice in that one shift movement. No need to pretend though, I can sense the holy shit in the holy shoot.” 

[hiten-chettair]

harry potter ask meme;;

accio — what’s an item your muse can’t live without? aparecium — what is a secret your muse is keeping?  crucio  — what is the worst pain your muse has experienced?  duro  —  does your muse perform well under pressure? evanesco   — has there ever been a time when your muse wanted to disappear? herbifors  —   is your muse the outdoorsy type? immobulus  —   has there ever been a time in which your muse felt powerless? imperio  —  is your muse a leader or a follower? impervius  —   what is something your muse finds repulsive? langlock  —  does your muse prefer to speak up or hold their tongue? legilimens  —   if someone could read your muse’s mind, what would they discover? obliviate — what’s one memory your muses wishes they could forget? protego totalum  — where does your muse feel safest? quietus  —  would people describe your muse as loud? riddikulus  —  how would you describe your muse’s sense of humor scourgify  —  is your muse a tidy person?

[hiten-chettair]

HITEN CHETTAIR               - twenty-five years old - uncle of Cassandra Klein PAULA KLEIN                     - twenty-nine years old - mother of Cassandra Klein ROBERT ‘BOBBY’ KLEIN  - forty-one years old - father of Cassandra Klein