janvizr

[janvizr]

Louis furrows a brow at the mention of company. "Whe—" He then peers over her shoulder confirming there indeed was a homeless woman asleep on the bus stop bench. "Oh," he manages to say after the fact. "Now, that is quite the carefree look." A chuckle escapes his lips somehow. A first in a while since the incident. It was still hard to wrap his mind around being there for the whole thing (albeit not directly involved.) The inner sleuth in him itches at the opportunity to snoop around, but he knew better than to stick his nose in business that wasn't his to have. In no way was he of any importance to the case other than the fact that he was there.

Realizing he's got a ten-yard stare going on, the man shrugs. Nour was always the type of person to... brush things off, he noticed. Sure, she seemed pretty straight forward from the get-go, but there was an air about her that said otherwise. As if the forwardness masked uncertainty. Not that he would tell her... yet. He liked her. They'd gone out quite a few times since they quite literally bumped into each other at the boardwalk. Since then, he lent her a hand delivering mail when he was bored, went dancing after a bad day— you name it. "I do have a car but I wanted to get around with my bike today." He nods to what he considered his prized possession. A 1972 Raleigh 3-speed in olive green. Given it was one of the newest things he owned, it proved to be a sturdy little thing.

He then gives her a knowing look, as if he was going to suggest something silly. "What about a ride?"

It never occurred to Nour that the events that took place on Halloween would ever have to do with her. She has let go of her paranoia since it was birthed during her high school years in Stillwater, deciding to let herself get swallowed by invisibility in hopes of chasing what she was like in her formidable years. Though, at this point, it was hard to determine what she was exactly like back then. Was she a rambunctious child? A little one, free from the ideals placed upon her? Still, in the present day, it helped her get by— it helped her climb out of that hell hole. And so, despite the city-wide curfew and her peers remaining adamant about not being the next victim, Nour thoroughly believed that it didn't matter what she did. She was a master at blending in, at not taking up space— how would this killer ever pick her out of a crowd? Her naive approach, in comparison to everyone else, was all she could cling to. After all, she couldn't let some unhinged psychopath get in the way of her living the life she's worked so hard to create— even if it wasn't the life she wanted.

The new courier at Stillwater Post definitely didn't have the same sentiments— leaving the rest of her route 'undelivered' as soon as the sun started to set. A few other couriers had advised Nour that the neighborhood that was left would understand the delay due to the curfew, but what was another three hours tacked onto her shift? Nour needed the money —she always needed money— and the rest of her peers couldn't understand that. She was an immigrant, and life could not stop. It is also why she found herself at the bus stop at an irregular hour, accompanied by a homeless woman who happened to take space a few feet from the bus stop. It wasn't a comfortable situation, but her company was also a woman, and she found comfort in that.

Hearing footsteps approach her, Nour stiffened and didn't dare to look. It is only when he nears and opens his mouth to speak that she does, relaxing to find a familiar face. She smiles with relief, unaware just how tight she held onto the strap of her bag. "Not alone," she offers, nodding to the woman taking a nap on the bus bench. She slept soundly, shifting on top of the newspaper separating her from the cold bench beneath her. "The bus should be here soon anyway," she checks her watch, looking down the empty street. She turns to face him, crossing her arms against her chest. "I'm more surprised to see you taking the bus. You don't have a car?" she quips, persistent to move from the top of a killer being on the loose. If they didn't talk about it, it wasn't happening.

[janvizr]

It seems sleep couldn't find him tonight. No matter how many times he tossed and turned in bed for some kind of comfort that could send him off, he laid there to no avail. There wasn't much thought that kept him up, nothing new to blame the sleeplessness he felt. He'd made it a point not to drink coffee so late in the afternoon, so he finds himself at a loss for the sudden energy. Perhaps he was just accustomed to being up dissecting whatever prolific idea popped into his mind with his friend (whom was asked to leave the area in fear of being targeted next.)

And so now, Louis slips on a coat, getting ready to brave the night in an effort to tire himself out. As he locks the door behind him, the ocean breeze greets him as it always had this time of evening. He wraps the coat closer to his body, walking briskly onto the pavement and into the nearby boardwalk. It was strange to see less and less people on the street. No teenagers heckling each other into doing silly minor crimes or lovers hoping to find a moment's peace together. Just... nothing.

It's not until he sees a pair of girls, hands interlocked and jogging towards him that he takes it back. They're slower now as they close the gap between them, the one pulling the other almost out of breath and nearly in tears. "What's going on?" He asks, perplexed by their behavior. He feels a bit of heightened anxiety at the possibilities. She says they'd come across a shady character, and Louis looks over their shoulder to indeed spot a man some ways ahead. He tells them to continue on home before taking it upon himself to at least investigate.

"Excuse me?" He calls out as he cautiously approaches the stranger. The man doesn't respond at first, so Louis puts a hand to their shoulder. "Hey, I'm talki—" Then, upon seeing the familiar face that was Benny's, he lets out a relieved, but hearty laugh. "Lord, preserve me! Do you always look this menacing at night?"

When & Where: "Birch Bay Beach" ...nearing midnight!

🥸 @janvizr

The night was cold. The breeze that passed felt like the edge of a sword. It felt like ice— wet, almost. Benny looked out towards the water, the horizon far gone to show the sky and ocean becoming one. There's peace here. It's always here. It was hard to imagine that sixteen years had passed by just like that. And yet, here he was, staring at that same horizon with his converse digging into the cold sand. The only difference this time was that his head was screwed on a little bit tighter, but he was still as foolish as he always was. He stifled the laugh begging to come out of him, finding his feelings of absolute fear painfully ironic. How in the world was he just as scared as the day he arrived in Stillwater? He didn't understand why. Back then... Benny was the— Well, the point is that he wasn't the killer on the loose. He knew that, and his friends knew that (at least, he hoped), so why did it feel like his past was coming back to haunt him? Why did it feel like this killer was here just for him? Benny thought he would find answers in the place he left them but was left with nothing in return. Checking his watch, he realizes the time. He calls it a night, but before he can return to his car, he hears mumbling voices from afar. He turns to find two girls huddling together, pausing when one meets Benny's gaze. When the other catches on, she shrieks, grabbing the other's hand to run in the opposite direction. Benny's brows knit together, turning to see if someone else was behind him but was met with no one in sight. He doesn't know what to make of it, but as he continues his way back onto the boardwalk, it clicks. Fucking hell.

[janvizr]

Louis nods in agreement to the other's statement. There hasn't been much opportunity for the community to gather in such a place with such... themes. If it weren't for Arty insisting that he go and find new muse and ideas to the table, he almost wouldn't have attended at all. Intermingling with others wasn't his strong suit and his acquaintances made sure he knew that. "I would have to agree with you there," he says, tucking the silver platter under his arm and looking out into the room before them.

It's then a gentleman looks at him expectantly, his empty champagne glass tilting ever so slightly to indicate 'more drink.' "I swear some people take these things more seriously than others..." Louis turns to her with another more exasperated sigh. "Would you like to look around for your friend? I assume two heads are better than one in this situation. Helps me, helps you."

"In your defense, the food has been pretty attention-grabbing." Eloise hadn't been sure what to expect from the whole ordeal, but overall it was certainly outdoing her limited expectations. She wished that she was feeling better so she could enjoy it to the fullest extent, but she was making the best of it (which was, well, the Eloise Meadows way): playing her part, looking for clues, and definitely over leaning into the role of pining for Harvey Whoever since that meant fawning over Dee. It had been too long since she'd really been able to do that. "I'll admit that as much as I love a murder-mystery, I'm not too sure I'm good at them." She'd definitely been paying as much attention as she could, but she'd been too distracted and she was certain she'd missed some details. "Better at reading them, I think."

[janvizr]

His flask, at this point, is empty as he slides it back into his pocket. Few things kept him warm when it got chilly, but alcohol definitely helped (in small increments, of course.) Louis nods and shrugs before speaking. "I imagine partying would be the last thing on your mind given your occupation," he starts, a sort of understanding settling into the conversation. "You've got to talk to people every day, and that is certainly draining."

At the other's offer, he extends his own hand and firmly shakes it. "Louis. I'm no bartender. Just an artist on extended stay."

Thank god. Nick was officially over partying, and was thankful the night's events were drawing to a close. Soon enough, the killer would be revealed, and everyone would be free to get back to mingling. He'd joined the character playing portion of the party because he'd lost a bet and, truth be told, the loss marked the end of his short-lived gambling career.

He took a drag, sputtered out a laugh, then spoke. "I might be a bartender, but I'm not much of a partier. Hard to believe, I know." Realizing he hadn't yet introduced himself, he stuck out a hand. "I'm Nick, by the way."

[janvizr]

"Oh, monsieur, I apologize... It seems I've run out of champagne. I must return to ze kitchen for more," Louis says begrudgingly through a tight smile. This man had been hovering around him for the last 15 minutes, insisting they continue their conversation in character. He was never one to judge, seeing as this individual seemed to enjoy this kind of soiree more than the average Joe, but it was 10 minutes too long of a conversation and he was over it. Finally able to excuse himself, Louis slips into the closest doorway he could find, which coincidentally led outside. Perfect.

Peering over his shoulder one last time to make sure he wasn't followed even here, Louis's shoulders relax as soon as the coast was clear. He lets out a long, requisite breath, hands in his pockets as he wanders the vast outdoors of the mansion. He only stops when he's met with another person having a smoke. Posed with a question, Louis huffs, sitting on one of the planters. "Quite the opposite, actually." He then fumbles around his pockets for a small flask, popping it open and taking a small swig. "Just trying to get the night over with. Which, I presume, is what you're doing."

OPEN starter, outside Merill Branch Manor, just before midnight. // @swstarters.

It had started out as an act of mimicry, maybe, after seeing Benny and Phoenix and Mari do it so many times... Then, well, Nick wasn't sure when he developed a hankering for nicotine. Just that he did. It was a nice way to get a breather, every now and then. Especially now, with tensions rising in the ballroom, and everyone trying to get their guesses in before the clock struck midnight. Small towns with little to do meant shit like this was a perfect breeding ground for competitiveness. Supposedly, the prize was a date night around town for two — tickets to a movie, gift card for a free dinner, voucher for glasses of wine over at The Mint. Nick wasn't interested, and had slipped outside in the chaos.

Newly lit cigarette between his lips, he spun around when he heard the sound of the front door opening and closing. "Well?" he asked, half breathless, half startled. "Have you come to accuse me?"

[janvizr]

"I can't believe this..." Louis mutters to himself as he observes the crowd, a platter of whatever seafood horderves the event staff had given him propped up on his hand. Sure, he was a guest too and didn't have to fully play the part, but what fun was a themed party if roleplay wasn't honored? The only real problem (albeit very minor) was that he was the butler. Some extended family had been indentured servants to quite a few important houses, and he had a cousin who was one herself who would kill for a chance to see him now.

A sigh escapes his lips as the final horderve is taken off the platter. He cherishes a moment of relief until a soft tap on his shoulder pulls him from the immersion. Turning, he's faced with a young woman asking for a certain Harvey Thornton. He wished he knew exactly who that was, but all he could offer was a shrug and a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, madam. I... eh.. have not seen Ser Harvey," he tells her, accent thick and puzzled. "Honestly, I haven't been paying much attention to anything but the food," he also adds, sans accent.

open! @swstarters Things had gotten a little loud, and Eloise's head was killing her. Still, this whole night had been entirely her idea so she intended to smile through it even when there were lights beginning to pop behind her eyes. She'd taken a moment to step away, decided to splash some water on her face (and then fix her make-up, because the water might not have been the well most-thought-out idea) before stepping back into the murder mystery. She wasn't going to be of much use at all when it came to detective skills with her head, but she could still enjoy the evening and play the part. She'd lost Dee when she'd slipped away to the washroom, though, and that had her frowning to herself as she peeked around the crowd. "Excuse me," she began with a small smile as she lightly tapped the nearest person to her on the shoulder. "Have you seen..." she took a quick glance at her card, "Harvey Thornton, by chance?" May as well play the part while she looked.

[janvizr]

closed starter ✼ @nourfk where ✼ bus station when ✼ around 8:30pm

What started as an intriguing Halloween soiree turned into some kind of nightmare fuel. How could anyone imagine there was a killer on the loose? Especially one who had the audacity to off the mayor himself. All Louis could think about was the uproar in the mansion, everyone frantically speaking amongst each other and the blinding red and blue lights of police cars arriving at the scene. Before he knew it, he was being questioned only being let go into the wee hours of the morning with a business card, free dinner and a headache. So much for using up the prize.

Louis hoped to God there wasn't going to be another victim in its wake. It had to be an isolated incident, right? News of the tragedy spread like wildfire within the next few hours, with the city issuing a curfew and people bustling about in paranoia and suspicion. Shaking his head, he then checks his wristwatch, brows raising at the time — just past 8:30pm. He wonders if anyone was going to follow this curfew, given many businesses would suffer from closing early. And as he turns the street, he recognizes Nour waiting at the bus stop, looking quite unbothered.

"I thought you would've been home by now... Should you even be..." he trails, looking around, not so much as a soul in sight. "...out here alone?" He was one to talk.

[janvizr]

At some point, Louis loses interest in analyzing the architecture of the diner and retreats inward. Not that he hated waiting, he simply hadn't had a moment to unwind and was always doing something. It was as if his braincells conjured up a storm of ideas and random memories that flicked between each other like a slideshow and he needed to distract them by... moving. Caffeine had a way of doing that for him, as did other things.

Luckily, Benny emerges from the kitchen as soon as the last of the patrons in the diner had started leaving. He acknowledges Benny's suggestion, as he too stands up to leave, setting aside the mug of coffee along with more than enough money for the waitress. "If I had known where you lived, I definitely wouldn't have made an appearance in such a... public place," he states, leading the way towards the exit. "Word of mouth could only get you so far."

The evening breeze is chilly against his cheek as they make their way further into the parking lot. "I apologize for showing up out of the blue. Artie—crazy old man, wiry hair, strangely wealthy—said he'd had one of your confections at your booth, and pointed me here."

Benny continues his work as normal, finishing the last order as he begins preparing the batter at the same time. It's not usual for him to bake those special brownies at work— in fact, he'd rather not. Still, it's hard to deny how much easier it was when he started bending his own rules. He kept the grounded marijuana in a special place in his station, hyper-vigilant of its place at all times. He respected Rubys and didn't want to ruin its reputation by bringing his 'side hustle' to his day job, but times like these called for a little rule-breaking. He needed the money anyhow, and the less he thought about it, the less it weighed on his conscience.

He rang up the last plate and placed it on the counter; the ding of the oven sounded off as he turned around. "Right on time," he says to himself, pulling it out of the oven. He places the pan on top of the stove, leaning over to take a whiff before cutting it right down the middle. The other cooks take a peak at Benny's midnight snack, brows bouncing with interest. They coo and beg him for a piece, but he shoos them away, promising them their own tomorrow. As if these assholes couldn't make one themselves... he scoffs, cutting the last square out and placing it in a brown paper bag.

Looking out the window, Benny takes another look at his new client, enjoying his cup of coffee. He raises a brow, always a bit curious about the lives of those he cooked for. He wasn't sure if the other had an accent, faintly remembering to hear the sound of his voice. He was interested, wanting to hear the sound of his voice moving to the forefront of his thoughts as he made his way back over to him. He looks around as the customers make their way out of the diner, noting the last couple on the other side of the room. "Next time, you can pick up at my place. I don't tend to mix my day job with my night job— if you know what I mean."

[janvizr]

Louis' gaze shifts from the woman to anywhere but. Between her tear-stricken face and the mascara she just rubbed off (hence making it far darker and wider around her eyes,) the man never knew what to do when someone cried -- especially a woman. An empath? Definitely. A comforter? Not at all. His female companions made sure to let him know of it for the next time he was in that situation.

"If I may object, I don't think it is," he tells her in a soft tone, feeling his pockets for anything that may help. "I think it might be... Ah." His hand stops at his breast pocket, pulling a handkerchief from it before handing it to her. "It's clean, I promise."

Admittedly, Nellie was taken aback. She wasn't expecting an apology from her counterpart; she wasn't sure what she was expecting, to be honest. What she'd been hoping for though, was someone willing to put up more of a fight than this. She was in a mood and wanted to argue and yell and — I have no excuse?

With a small huff, she'd rubbed her eyes, and took off more mascara as a result, cheeks burning red with embarrassment. It somehow felt worse that she'd started an argument with a stranger who wasn't indulging her. Surely she was worth a little bit of a public scene, right?

"Um," she sniffled, lowering her head in her hands for a moment, as if the action would stave off further embarrassment. "It's fine."

[janvizr]

Before he could get another word in, she'd already crouched down to pick up the cigarettes he'd missed. Boy, was it a long day already, but he's relieved of most of his guilt by her response. "Then this just means I owe you one," he says in kind. Call it a flaw in character, but he was never one to not give back. "Oh?" He then adds, surprised to find someone else who was new to Stillwater. Though he'd lived here for quite some time now, he was still finding new places to go and definitely so much more people to see (whether he intended to or not.)

He then chuckles, shoulders shrugging. "I can't really tell the difference between tourist and local, to be honest. I'm quite new to town, as you say, as well. But to answer your question, I'm just taking a walk. I've had a lot of coffee to drink and I can't sleep. I guess it is more akin to... wandering than walking."

As he passed back the mostly empty container, Phoenix took a peek inside of the box, only to discover that there were two cigarettes remaining – the other seven scattered across the many planks of wood that made up the boardwalk. While part of her was happy to accept his offer, the other knew that it would be a waste of what were still perfectly good cigarettes.

With a shake of her head, Phoenix crouched down to the ground in an attempt to gather the contents of her pack. "I'm not going to lie, on a bad day, I probably would have been pissed and taken you up on that offer. But as long as they're not broken, they're fine." One by one, the redhead gathered up each of the cigarettes, carefully brushing them off before sliding them back neatly into their box. "What're you doing here anyway? I don't find many people roam the beach all by their lonesome. At least not the tourists.. assuming that you are one. I'm fairly new to town and haven't familiarized myself with all of the locals just yet."

[janvizr]

With the interaction, or rather transaction, in progress, Louis tilts his head in acknowledgement, letting Benny finish up the remainder of his shift. His eyes then wander the space and its booths, all slightly worn but charming in their own way. It was a place frequented by many, him included. Diners in America were far more colorful and casual than the cafes sprawled on every street back home. In no way was the décor awful in France, there was just a completely different vibe. According to his grandmother, his mother loved places like this, and he could see why. Freedom felt plenty within these walls.

Sighing, he finally flags down the waitress named Amy, greeting her with brows raised and a friendly smile. "I'll just have a coffee, please. No cream or sugar. Just black." And as she walks away for a brief moment (albeit without stealing another glance at him,) and back, he thanks her for pouring the coffee for him and offers nothing else. He then takes a sip, soaking in a long-needed breather for the day.

It feels reckless to say that Benny should've known better than to assume someone wanted to see him in regard to his past. He had left behind the horrors of his home so far behind that it seemed impossible (at this point) for it to suddenly come from behind him to take him by surprise. He was evidently relieved to hear that the guy before him was interested in his special brownies, especially considering what could've been exponentially worse. Despite his uncertainty about the new image thrust upon him, there was no better time than the present to be thankful to be known as the baked brownie guy. "Sure thing," he says, his shoulders falling with ease. "It'll take a minute, so sit tight. If you want to order anything, Amy will come back around to take care of ya." He taps the counter out of habit, nodding to him as he returns to the kitchen.

[janvizr]

Louis catches the flicker of surprise in the woman's eyes and offers a half-smile. "Yes, really!" He reaffirms, tucking the letters she hands him into the deep pockets of his jacket. It was typical, wasn't it? The larger the wealth gap, the more negligent the individual. He can't help but chuckle at the thought. It was the same everywhere, he guessed. And as he walks by her side, the question of the hour causes him to glance at her before continuing onward, shaking his head.

"I'm an artist," he says at first, ruminating on the rest of his answer before he speaks again. "A woodcarver, rather. Imported from France." The last bit was quite silly to say, but it flowed out naturally. It wasn't a lie. He indeed was paid to come and live here for an unexpected amount of time. "I'm here for a piece I'm working on."

When he agrees to help her, Nour looks up with interest. She truly didn't think he'd have any interest in coming to her aid, surprised by his decision. "—Really?" she ends up saying, unconvinced. It wasn't that there weren't people who offered to carry something heavy for her, having come across the opportunity once before, but it was rather the kind of people who offered their help. Nour wasn't sure if she was making unfair judgments (she was), but to think that a resident of Birch Bay would be so kind with their time was a surprise to her. In her experience, they could be making more money doing something else than saying hi to her.

It's needless to say, but this was a charming surprise. "Alright," she can't help but grin, handing him his share of letters, conveniently ready for the next house on her route. As they make their way, Nour can't help her curiosity. "What do you do, if you don't mind me asking?"

[janvizr]

Something of a simper stretches across his face from the accepted compliment. "Pleasure is all mine." Never had Louis gone out of his way to say such things to anyone--especially when he didn't know them--but he figured it was the best time to start. "I'm not a musician myself and probably could never be, so I appreciate those who have that talent." There was never knowing when someone needed to hear something, anything that would make or break their day.

As the young man sets aside his guitar, Louis shrugs at the question. "I was actually on my way back home from..." He pauses for a moment, trying to find the words to describe his employer-friend. "... I suppose a friend and a client." Judging by the way the man was situated on the beach, he must have lived in one of the houses. "I take it you must live on this beach to be so relaxed at this time of night. I hope I'm not trespassing or violating any rules of privacy."

His eyes are closed, so he hears the voice speaking to him before he sees the man before him. The wind whipped at them, ever so slightly. The smell of salt was almost overwhelming. He didn’t recognize the voice, but could hear the accent in it. He peeled his eyes open, looking out at the stranger who stood with a view. There was a kindness in his words, in the softness of his voice.

He paused before responding. “That’s rather nice of you to say.” He peered out, setting his guitar carefully next to him. “You didn’t have to stop to say that, but you did and for that, I thank you.” He smiled, softly and slowly, but it was something. One of the first time he felt himself smiling in the longest time. It almost felt foreign to him. “What’s got you out here on the Beach so late?”

[janvizr]

Finally finding his bearings, Louis offers a tight-lipped smile to the woman for not taking his ignorance to his surroundings the wrong way. Contrary to his life in France, most people here did not take to random incidents well. He learned as much when he'd strike conversation for the sake of filling awkward silence. At this point in his extended stay, he simply nodded at others and went about his day. He preferred it that way, anyway.

"I apologize," he tells her again, picking up her pack of cigarettes and dusting off the sand, tossing the stray sticks into the trash while he was at it. "Can I buy you another? I wasn't able to save..." The pack was essentially empty save for 2 lucky ones. "... very many of them."

For Phoenix, sleepless nights weren't uncommon, though that didn't make them any easier. Most days, the woman felt as though she was running on the powers of caffeine and nicotine to get her through the day. Especially on mornings spent waiting tables at the diner, or stocking the shelves of the record store.

Today, however, she'd found herself strolling the boardwalk on her day off. While she had never been big on the sand, Phoenix could definitely appreciate the time she spent staring off into the depths of the ocean and was determined to make the most of her summer before things grew colder. While in California she wouldn't have to worry about catching a chill until at least November, the beach always seemed far less appealing come Halloween.

As she strolled along the wooden planks, Phoenix reached into the depths of her leather handbag and pulled out a half-empty pack of Marlboro Reds. But just as she'd taken the thin paper cylinder between her fingertips, the redhead found herself colliding with a stranger and the box tumbling down to her feet. "I mean, if you wanted to bum one, all you had to do was ask," the woman chuckled with amusement.

[janvizr]

Louis finds himself at a crossroads. Yes, he did offer to help... to an extent. He could either take it one step further for the inconvenience or say no altogether. She'd already resigned herself to that responsibility. It doesn't take long for him to decide, however, internally groaning. His father's shipmates always said he had a heart of gold under the brooding mask he wore more often than he would admit. Adjusting the parcel under his arm, he offers his free one to her. "I can't abandon you now. I am partially to blame for this mix up. Where are we headed first?"

"This is totally what I get for trying to complain for even just a second!" she whispers, not so quietly. Nour huffs, running after the last few letters from her reach. When she finally catches them, she bends over to catch her breath, looking back at the man approaching her. It was hard for Nour to change how she felt on the fly— it was one of her worst attributes. She was stubborn and wore her heart on her sleeve, and you can always tell how she's feeling with just one look. And so, despite his apologies, it was hard to let go of her grumbling. She was still annoyed, but was it entirely his fault? She looked up at him with an arched brow, still frowning as he went on. She scoffs when he states the obvious, Nour nodding as she returns to her cart. "Thanks for the reminder," she says, sarcasm ever so present. Opening the bag, she tries to organize the letters in her grasp, filing them in order. As she does, she opens her hand to him for his, wiggling her fingers. "If you're that gutted, you can offer your time and help a pour girl out—" she says, completely unserious. As she takes his letters, she starts mixing them with her own accordingly, already preparing for his departure. "Or not."

[janvizr]

It isn't until the Benny in question comes out with his guard immediately up that Louis realizes he may have been too vague about the whole ordeal. "I know this may be a bit sudden, but I was hoping to pick something up from you? Something you've baked within the last..." He pauses for a moment to make a circle pattern with his index finger. "Week or so ago?" He notices the waitress over the man's shoulder, listening in on their conversation. Compelled to shoo her away, he nods at her, a small smile indicating just that to top it off. "I understand you aren't entirely closed yet so when you get the chance, could we meet outside?"

"This is the last pie!" Benny calls out as he pulls out the dessert from the oven, their remaining waitress of the night making note. It had been one hell of a day, and for the baker to create another three pies just to meet the demand meant business was booming. Still, as much as he supported the diner thriving, it would be nice to find time for a smoke break. Thankfully, busy days meant time went by faster, and Benny was thrilled to see they were only thirty minutes shy from officially closing and kicking the remaining few out. It wasn't always Benny's favorite thing to do, but it was meaningful work.

As he finishes slicing the pie, Benny looks up from his station to hear the bell of their door ring. Seriously? He shakes his head, glaring at the patron who dared to come in just as they were about to close. He doesn't catch what they're saying, but when the waitress looks back at Benny, he realizes they're talking about him. Raising a brow, he watches her come to the window with a look in her eye, waving to the cooks, already preparing themselves to make another basket of chicken tenders— probably. "Relax, he's here to see Benny."

"Me?" he reiterates, settling the knife down. "Why?" The waitress shrugs, eyes peering down to the pie, bringing her hands out to grab it. "Dunno, just said he was told to meet you after your shift."

Benny repeats what she said in his head, remaining confused. He doesn't recall any meetings he was supposed to have, the man turning out to be even more of a mystery. Handing her the pie, he nods to her, nonverbally communicating that he'd take care of it. Patting his hands against his apron, Benny enters the diner through the kitchen door, eyes meeting the stranger's immediately. Approaching him, Benny nods as he greets him, already feeling his guard going up. He starts rubbing his hands together with the towel that was attached to his pants, suddenly worried for the worst. "What's up?" he asks, appearing cool but incredibly curious.

[janvizr]

It takes a moment for Louis to register what was happening. Because the next thing he knew, he was meeting eyes with a tear-stricken (and rather angry) woman. This strong display of emotion left him dumbstruck. The man didn't know whether it was from the sheer force of the collision, or that she might have already been having a bad day and he'd just made it worse. It posed as no surprise to him if it were the latter considering it was on-brand for him to have that effect on people.

Nervously, he presses his lips together into a thin line. "I apologize," he begins, hoping to diffuse the situation before it got worse. "You're right. I should have been paying more attention. I... have no excuse."

Nellie had yet again posed a story idea to her editor and yet again, had been shot down. 'A woman's place is writing the women's interest pages. You know, lots of other places wouldn't've even let a woman do anything but serve coffee..' Square one felt so familiar, it didn't even seem sensible to call it square one. It felt more like square 101. It felt like rejection after rejection after rejection. And while the feeling was a close cousin to abandonment, that feeling most commonly resting on her shoulders and making her heavy, it never stung any less.

And it, like many of her feelings, drove her to crave silence and isolation. Solitude was the best thing for Nellie when she was in a mood like this one. She could try to call the twins, but it was a toss-up whether her mother would even answer, or put them on the phone if she did.

She hated the hot tracks her own tears made down her cheeks, and hated them even more so when she collided with another person, someone with the privilege of seeing her at her very worst — a sight many in town would do just about anything for.

And then, of course, she was all over-exaggerated fury; flustered and embarrassed. "You can't watch where you're going?!" She turned her face away, palms furiously swiping at her cheeks. "There are other people here besides you!"