morphemeta

[morphemeta]

Well, that was a familiar face. Her greeting is returned with a lazy wave of his hand. He hadn't encountered Alice since he'd visited her in the hospital, a trip that marked an uncharacteristic gesture of kindness on Kaz's part. He was not incapable of caring about others, or even worrying for their well-being somewhat. Salem was proof enough of that all her own, as the godchild upon him he so readily doted. Well, a person can't be utterly twisted. Nobody can close their heart off altogether. Most of the way was more than enough, however, and Kaz was quite content on keeping it that way; trusting in such sentimental drive had hardly served him well in his youth. Grief had shaped him, formed him into the cynical beast he'd become, and he had no particular intentions of filling the ugly void that long since swallowed him up from the inside out. He'd had to be cruel, selfish and ruthless to reach the position he had in this town; if he'd done anything else, he'd never have any hope of avenging what was stolen from him. He could not afford to be kind. Not while he still had unfinished business. And yet, he really hadn't wished any ill against Alice. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was somewhat relieved to see she was well, that the desperate attempts to drag her to safety had not been in vain after all.

“Before I say anything else-- you're not on record, are you?” said Kaz, with a scoff as he extinguishes his cigarette against the wall. He cared not for the ashy black splodge it left behind. This wasn't his place of residence. And, well, the place was already soiled enough byt the dark cloud of murder. No doubt newcomers would be thinking twice about renting a place here. Nobody who could afford it was desperate enough for that kind of thing. What harm would one little, easily-cleaned stain do? “I'd hate to think I was having a nice little chat, only for it to end up in the papers.” This was punctuated with a short laugh. Something like that would only be stopped on the way to the presses; if not by Kaz himself, then by the publishers who preferred his money and support to journalistic integrity.

“I'm not suggesting anything, I'm merely voicing an opinion,” he said, a quirk of an eyebrow. “Of course, I must say it's interesting no further incidents have occurred over at Seal Harbor since and Delilah's seems untouched. Dear old CLAPPY must be good for something, eh?” Of course he'd say that, when the damn thing was his pet project. “But anything about surveillance is petty hear-say. It's a security system. You don't think the lock on your front door is spying on you, now, do you?” Kaz was not unaware of the complaints regarding CLAPPY's installation and operation. As a matter of fact, he did not even believe them to be unfounded. That business with everyone getting locked in their homes was a hassle, to say the very least. Not very good for the Council's image. “I can assure you we're trying to work out kinks. What else are we supposed to do? Hire more security guards? Couldn't a dedicated murderer, who's so impossible to track down, just do away with them as well?” Was it strange to speak of death so casually? Ah, well, he had his reasons.

After months of taking it easy and working from home, it felt pretty good for Alice to be back out her reporter beat, though she was still hesitant at times due to the fear that whoever had come after her Halloween night would want to finish the job. Paranoia aside, she'd rushed from the office to the Marionette as soon as she got word of Eliana Moschetti's gruesome demise. Now here she was, pen and notepad in hand, ready to take notes about anything and everything she could. Needless to say, she was not surprise when she came across Kaz casually smoking a cigarette.

Here was the thing about Kaz--Alice had never appreciated his overbearing oversight when it came to the Daily Diem. She felt that it was his attempt to censor the free press and she didn't believe in that. They'd played a lot of mind games in the past, their words always dancing over one another, their disdain for the other evident. However, Kaz was also one of the people who was responsible for Alice being alive. It was a little harder to snark at him after that, considering that she quite literally owed him her life. She no longer wanted to play mind games with him--she held a certain amount of respect and obvious gratitude for him, especially after the way he'd treated her in the hospital with such kindness. Perhaps Hirokazu Amuro did have a heart after all.

That being said, she found herself unsurprised at his suggestion for more security the second he saw her. Dreadful what's happened here, eh? It does make you wonder about the state of security though. No longer interested in playing games, she gave it to him straight. "Good evening, Kaz--you seem rather chipper considering that we're at the scene of a murder. I don't disagree that security is clearly an issue--but isn't the council trying to install Clappy practically city-wide at this point? Isn't that why you're suggesting that?" Walking up to him, not really minding the cigarette smoke (god, she missed smoking so fucking much), she said "We all want to feel safe, of course, but some people are concerned about Clappy's level of surveillance--specifically that it's keeping an eye on the citizens instead of trying to keep people safe."

[morphemeta]

the marionette, ground floor; 22nd january, afternoon / @anchoragestarters

Playing the role of concerned citizen, invested city council member, was one thing but performing that role to any satsifying degree was quite another. Hirokazu Amuro had not complained when he'd been taken aisde by the cops to give his take on what he'd seen but he'd remained utterly tightlipped about any detail not immediately crucial to the case. His business was entire his own. Of course, this was not a rule that applied both ways; everyone else's business was his as well and this whole thing had more than piqued his curiosity.

He'd been stood by an elevator on the ground floor of the Marionette, lit cigarette in his hand and smoke billowing up toward the high ceiling. There were no rules, of course, to stop him and any passerby who thought to complain would have received the deeply scathing gaze of a man who thought they were -- just as deeply -- stupid for even bothering. Still, with one sharp clap of the hands, a passerby's attention was demanded all the same.

"Dreadful what's happened here, eh? It does make you wonder about the state of security though," said Kaz, coolly, a drag taken from that still lit cigarette. "In a place like this too, to think it could so quickly go the way of that dreadful cinema downtown."

[morphemeta]

"Mhm, I'm sure I'll get plenty of sales when I've driven all my customers away with cheap scares," sighed Kaz. It wasn't that he was incapable of taking advice even when he'd asked for it but it was true that Kaz had always been the sort of person to have an opinion on everything. Perhaps, once upon a time, a long while ago, he'd still worried about this natural lack of filter and tried his best to keep his mouth shut but he'd eventually learned to stop caring altogether. Being opinionated had helped him secure his spot on the Council; the easier route to success may have been to suck up to the guys on top and wriggle his way into their ranks without a scrap of dignity but Kaz had opted instead to fight tooth and nail to get where he was.

"Not that I don't respect the angle," he said, with a shrug. "That'd certainly work as a publicity stunt but I'm trying to run a mostly respectable business here." Only mostly, because there was something inherently...well, not respectable about a store that dealt in paranormal supplies. Kaz could rant and rave about his deep love for the world of horror literature but it was a lost cause if nobody else saw the vision. Ah, thank goodness this was only something he did to fill the gaps when the Council wasn't keeping quite enough of his attention. (What a terrible busybody.) "In any case, good business is not built on truth. I respect your journalistic integrity, however."

A short laugh and a casual shrug. That was what these remarks about scary stuff inspired in Kaz. "You and I both," he said, as though this were something he had considered himself before many a time. Yet, as it must be said, Kaz was no more telling the truth in that regard than Ulysses. Any less of a spine and Kaz would have crumbled and collapsed long ago. A journalist may have his own secrets but there was certain knowledge to which only the Council had access, knowledge that could send the whole town into the frenzy if it were not well-guarded. (Not that Kaz cared a button for that; he kept these secrets to himself because it was convenient and he didn't want to lose his job.) "And what stories are you chasing these days? Forgive my nosiness, I just find it rather prudent to keep on top of what happens around town."

He wasn't offended. Honestly? It took so much for Ulysses to find offence these days, he himself wasn't sure the limitations could be reached. The only thing he became impatient and offended towards was when things were disguised, but for god's sake, this wasn't an interrogation. What he did have to work towards was not revealing that he was on the verge of a smile at the semantics and the dramatics of these semantics. Listen, he too was a wordsmith. Understanding the nature of the sentence, how syntax could affect significance. He peeled apart articles with the same kind of citrus-relish that Kaz peeled apart his own shop's display. But that was par for the course, being one's worst self-critic, and then scoffing at other's critique, even if those critiques mirrored what you, as the creator, were already thinking.

Maybe this mutual, kind of underlying understand, was what prevented Ulysses from diving into the irritable and impatient parts of himself. "Hey, I know the name! I don't wanna ruin the reputation. I'm just thinking of expanding the customers. I got no problem with the scary stuff. I just read the news. You draw 'em in with the kitsch, kinda cutesy candy corn lights, and then you can jumpscare them in the first aisle a full-on coffin display. Lure 'em, nab 'em." Ulysses punctuated with one snap of his fingers. If he owned a store, he would treat the shopping and retail in the same way that he deals with the newspaper articles. Snappy headliners, draw in the reader with something ridiculous, and then hit them where it hurts. "Might sound like clickbait, but not if you deliver on your truth in the end. Doesn't matter how you get there." This could be taken or left. Advice was free.

"Scary stuff got me into this job. I wish I had less of a spine." He didn't, actually. It might be easier to be more oblivious, but then it would be more shocking when the truth came out. He kept so much knowledge in his jean pockets for the rainy days. It was unbearable sometimes. That was his personal affront and curse, being looked at in that position of leadership. But who the hell else was going to do it?

[morphemeta]

when i listed 'a gaze sharp enough to dissuade any arguments' as an aesthetic in kaz's into, this is what i was talking about bc this is the kinda look he gives you when he's quietly plotting your murder after you mildly pissed him off. (jokes (??) aside, i love the look of genuine quiet DISGUST in both of these lmaoooo)

[morphemeta]

“How good of you to check in with me first,” said Kaz, an eyebrow raised as he lowered some useless-looking trinket back down on the shelf and turned to glance at Salem, no effort made to close the distance between them. The words were, as expected, dripping with sarcasm. Surely, by now, she'd be used to his sardonic humour, even if he did not weaponise it against her like he did most others. His relationship with Salem was not like that, after all; he'd known hre since he was in his twenties, when he was young enough to cling to stupid dreams and hope for that which could never be. In some ways, Salem was a remnant, a final fleeting trace of a distant and abandoned life and one of the few people he still held dear. Now, as she all but demanded his company, he realised that things had been so hectic and the Council had taken up so much of his attention that he'd hardly made time for her at all. “Tonight,” he said, brows knitted. “That's the, ah, cinema, isn't it?” Of course he'd know; his insistence on overseeing the town's cultural affairs ultimately meant that the holiday events fell into his sphere of business as well. Truly, this was a busy time of year. He could hardly recall the last time he'd had a real, good night's rest.

“Personally, I'm not one for sappy Christmas flicks so there'll be no complaints from me,” said Kaz, with a short laugh. He had no trouble with Christmas itself and he'd even been used to it growing up, maybe more than some other Japanese expats of his age. But it was that same existing awareness that pushed him to steer clear of anything that struck him as too cloyingly American. Close proximity to US military bases built on Okinawan soil that was not theirs to occupy, he imagined, would have that effect on most people. “So, I suppose I can make time for it. All I had scheduled was some meeting. Was bound to be a waste of time anyway.”

He leant back against the shelving unit, arms locked over his chest and one leg crossed over the other. “I'll be paying,” he said, in a tone that invited no arguments. Although Kaz was not so fussed about looking proper in public, having felt he'd had his fair share of that nonsense growing, there was a certain sloppiness to his posture now that the usual denizens of Anchorage would never see. “For one thing, I'm your boss so you're on my dime, ergo there's no point.” Of course, the more obvious reasoning was that Kaz had enough money that the cost of these tickets were barely pocket change to him but he did not care much for saying obvious things. “I'd say we ought to grab a bite to eat as well – I'd be paying for that too, before you say a word – but that really depends on how many of these films you're after seeing.”

@morphemeta at the coffin club, december 17th

"Tell me you're free tonight. Or if you have plans, I think you should cancel them for me," Salem announced without an ounce of embellishment behind her words as she was leaning over the checkout counter of the Coffin Club, and after turning over an amber-encrusted tarantula ( that was more of a decorum than a helpful thing to finding the field of paranormal ) for the fifth time over the course of her shift, her eyes had zeroed in on the sight of her godfather across the store, rifling through their latest wares. ( Godfather made him sound like he was some Italian mob overlord out of the cult classic film, but he was neither Italian or intimidating enough to pull off one of those Mausers, she amused herself thinking. ) "I was going to indulge in the festivities tonight. I convinced Romi to watch my kid for the evening." Was she confident in Romi's parenting skills? Eh. But a two year old wasn't difficult to entertain, let alone feed. "I'll buy. Unless you were going to offer first," the goth teased, pushing herself away from the counter to twirl a strand of her black locks around her fingers, blowing the bubblegum in her mouth to a sizable bauble, snapping it open with a poke of her tongue and letting out a sigh. "You know, I'm tickled all the showings are horrors — I guess that's something to be said for good marketing."

[morphemeta]

Kaz, being in a perfectly rotten mood after been attacked by patch of exploding fucking pumpkins, had already, the very moment he saw a figure approaching in the fog, begun to formulate in his mind a suitable dismissal to any requests they might have had; 'I'm terribly sorry, I'd love to help but I'm really such a busy man and I simply do not have the time to stop'. These were the sorts of excuses people were quite ready to believe, even on the few occasions that Kaz was, such as he would be doing now, lying through his back teeth. He'd earned a reputation for honest simply by being blunt and not mincing his words but all that had done was make it far easier for him to lie his way out of trouble. Now, reputation itself was a funny thing and Kaz was also quite certain his current state, coated in pumpkin guts and looking rather dishevelled for it, was also a potential hit to whatever reputation he'd built up over the past twenty years. All the more reason then, he thought, to wave this person off without even looking at them. This didn't need to get out. Kaz liked to be in control of his image and this was all nothing short of embarrassing. (He wondered, briefly, if he needed to send that firefighter some kind of NDA before he went off telling everyone about his acts of heroism.)

All these thoughts were, however, wiped from Kaz's mind the second the figure stepped closer, his image of their face sharpening as they cut through the fog. Astarion? Well, now, that changed things. There were not many people Kaz Amuro could say he truly held close to his own heart; his good old friend from his Uni days, his goddaughter and, perhaps at a stretch, his older sister (and them. Always them. Over and over and over, them. Was it a coincidence that this list only included people he'd known within their lifetime?). Although Astarion didn't quite make the cut there, Kaz was still very fond of him and cared about him as a friend, enough that the very sight of Astarion stumbling towards him struck Kaz with concern and doubt.

"Mm," Kaz nodded, his eyes washing over Astarion's body in search of any sign of injury besides the apparent exhaustion. It was obvious, at least to Kaz, that he was doing a very good job of putting on a cool face, as he'd have expected of someone like Astarion, but the signs of trouble were there all the same. "I did drive here, yes, and I didn't park too far from here either." (He hadn't exactly made it very far into the place before...well, let's not speak of it.) Kaz thought, for just a moment, to ask Astarion if he could walk by himself but he already suspected the answer would be a lie. There was no judgement of Kaz's part, however. He was no better himself. Moving with a distinct sort of urgency, Kaz stepped in beside Astarion and pulled his arm over his own shoulders. He was certain Astarion would protest, for Kaz was well aware of his adversion to any sort of physical contact, but he'd positioned his friend so the touch was minimal and he could escape if he truly felt the need. "Sorry, but it's going to be a real pain if you end up falling on your ass," said Kaz. "It's this or I carry you and I'm sure we both know which you'd prefer."

With that, the pair made their way to where Kaz had parked his car. Finally letting Astarion free, he moved to unlock the Rolls-Royce in which he'd driven here, slipped into the driver's seat and waited for Astarion to sit down beside him before kicking the car into ignition. "So, how quickly do we need to get there?" asked Kaz, who was fully prepared to break as many traffic laws as needed to get this done right. It wasn't like those things really applied to a man like him, anyway.

@morphemeta outside the pumpkin patch, october 31st, around eleven PM

There had been a hurdle of brain fog and a breakdown of decisiveness on where to go once he'd passed the front gate of the sepulture, all while sitting with the uncomfortable acknowledgement that the longer he dawdled, the less chance Alice had of survival. Every minute that she spent on the mausoleum's tiling with the risk of internal bleeding, infection, and more levied the risk that there was no returning, or at least permanent injuries she would be nailed down to. His feet were starting to ache in the restricting and inclement fabric of the boots, walking a good two miles back in the direction of the festival grounds with his adding to the foreboding fog that was hugging him from all sides. After the inquisition that the evening had been, grey eyes cast glances behind his back and side to side at the slight of rustling in the trees, disturbance of the underbrush, and the moon above glaring down at him was a stark reminder that he was trekking through Alaskan wilderness alone, going against everything his brother had raised him to fear. But if he didn't, then his sister would lose her life.

The white smoke that emanated thicker than the fog alerted him that someone else might have, too.

Astarion passed by the vehicle that Andrea must have been driven away in, and to his regrettable curiosity, and the misfortune of his stomach contents, it was empty except for crimson stains carved into the shattered, stained glass of the windowsill. There was no time to dally and call out for Andrea. If they had escaped, they could be far away by now. If they had been taken...

Acid pulverized his throat when it ascended out of his body and exorcised the tension rattling around his already addled mind, and he'd kicked the snow over it before walking onward. As the sounds of people and jubilance hooked his eardrums, and the setup of lights pierced his eyes. Squinting against the lights, glaring compared to the previous din he had been subjected to for the better part of three hours ( and guessing from the snow hugging his ankles, it had taken him around sixty minutes to walk all the way back, ) he was stumbling for the front entrance. The yawning stretch of corn and pumpkin patches reached out before him, a grotesque hand pointing him in the right direction. Were it not for the below-freezing temperatures, then he would have been hyperaware of how the pain was crawling upward from his ankles to his knees, or that his appendages must be swollen into the boots as he overexerted the build-up of fluid.

His belief, or lack thereof, of a God he once worshipped didn't alter the outcome of relief that surged and renewed his adrenaline when he caught sight of a familiar face, manifesting through the fog, and he was hoarse as he called, "Kaz?" If there was anyone he was hoping to accost for help, be it a random stranger or a loose acquaintance, someone he could consider a friend was better than he could have hoped for. As he trudged closer, the confounding sight of... tendrils and strings of pumpkin intestines and seeds would have stupefied him to stop in his tracks, but his mind was far from lingering upon unanswered questions and debating the theology behind... that. "Did you drive here? My sister — we were in the cemetery, and this... person ambushed her. I don't know why, but — they drew fire and she's in bad condition. I had to leave her in the mausoleum, I — I need help." The articulation all sounded ineloquent, clumsy, of someone who prided on portentous choice of words and thoughtful sentences. Nor did it encompass the situation in its entirety; he could hardly feel his extremities, now gloveless digits purpling from nature's icy kiss, and the crafted façade took cover. "Can you help?"

[morphemeta]

young kaz btw, if ur interested to know. if u even care.

OKAY JOKING ASIDE....i know i've been doing semi-flashback rambles in some of kaz's replies/threads, just bc he has a lot of pivotal, IMPORTANT backstory stuff that happened like...20 years ago and a lot of his characterisation is based around his inability to get over that part of his life hehe >:) so it just kinda comes up a lot! anyway, when i start talking about like 25 year old kaz, this is what you should be picturing <3 and yes, i am including the heels in this.

[morphemeta]

"Oh, give it up," said Kaz, who'd just marched into the room, looking rather as if he owned the place. He was holding a small fabric bundle in one hand, a piece of patterned cloth tied up to act as a small sack, and a flask tucked under the same arm. "We both know fine well that you can't stand the sight of me." There was little doubt that these remarks were doing nothing to help his case but it wasn't as though he'd come here to engratiate himself to her. Visitations like these weren't exactly common behaviour for Kaz but, because he'd been one of the people to help drag Alice to the hopsital, even to the point of being the one behind the driver's seat, he felt a strange obligation to check up on her. If nothing else, he was fond of Astarion and supposed it was a good gesture to check up on the sister about whom he'd been so worried. And, sure, maybe it brought him some comfort of his own to know his own efforts hadn't been in vain. Sure, maybe Kaz didn't like it much when people died. (Unfortunately, he'd sooner gouge out his own eyes that admit to any sincere sympathies.)

"I just thought I'd check how you were doing," he said. "The last time I saw you, after all, you were bleeding all over the seats of my car. Don't worry, I won't bother charging you for the cleanup." He placed the flask and the bundle down on a table at the other end of the room, where he untied the cloth to reveal a small, round laquer tub. "Matcha and okayu," he said, gesturing lazily to these offerings. "Green tea and rice porridge. I don't know if these these are to your tastes but they're good for recovery so it won't hurt to give them a try." The porridge was, admittedly, better for battling colds and flus but, with the themometers dropping so low and the nights getting longer, there was always something comforting about warm, substantial food. This was the meal his family's maid had always prepared for him and his sister when they'd been unwell and their mother had been too busy to give them the time of day.

Turning around to face Alice once more, Kaz leant back against the table with his arms folded over his chest. "Astarion was really quite worried about you, you know," he said. It might have sounded like a complaint, were it not for the softening of his voice. "I was surprised when he came up to me that night, it looked as though he'd really run himself ragged." A pause. There was the faintest of tension in his brow, the look of a man struggling to say his next works. "Are you holding up alright?"

location: anchorage regional hospital

date: november 3

@anchoragestarters

The incessant beep of the heart monitor was keeping Alice awake--as was the searing pain that was emanating from her abdomen. Two nights ago, she'd been rushed into the emergency room with a gun shot wound, her dear brother by her side. She'd known that the gunshot was painful but it wasn't until she'd arrived at the ER that it was discovered that the bullet had nicked her liver and she would need immediate surgery--a hepatectomy, they'd called it. They'd rushed her into the OR, cut her open, removed the bullet, cut out a small part of her liver, and then sewed her back up. Good as new, right?

However, her doctor had run into a problem when it came to the recovery stage in the medsurg department. As soon as Alice came to and realized that the doctor had tried to prescribe morphine after the surgery, she'd given them a piece of her mind. She'd understood the circumstances, sure, but they had her fucking chart and information--they knew that she was a former drug addict. After chewing the doctor out, she instructed the nurse to only give her Tylenol and nothing else. Especially considering that they'd taken a small piece of her liver, she wasn't interested in making that organ work overtime while it was recovering. Needless to say, Alice, who was usually relatively agreeable, was incredibly irritable at the moment.

Giving up on any hope of sleep, she'd started to flip through all the boring TV channels when she heard a knock at the door. "That better be my fucking Tylenol, Nurse Susie," she said, already feeling her nerves start to fray. But instead, she was greeted with a familiar face and immediately felt guilty for sounding so rude. Even if it had been Nurse Susie, she shouldn't talk to people like that. "Sorry," she said, a little embarrassed. "I'm a bit...cranky today." 'Cranky' was putting it lightly. She was fucking pissed. She was furious. Why the fuck had this happened to her? No, she certainly wasn't perfect but what had she ever done to deserve getting shot at? And when would her past discretions stop rearing their ugly head every time she thought she'd finally conquered them? "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

[morphemeta]

Getting into the event without the costume required for entry had been a matter of no great effort for Kaz Amuro; he didn't particularly like to use his name and reputation to get his way in such trivial cases but, from time to time, it was the easiest way through. Besides, having long since stuck his foot in the door of Anchorage's cultural scene, he'd done the work to support some of the funding for this very event. Of course, most of the work would have been by another department all together but for all his flaws, he was good at throwing money at things that intrigued him. Yet now, as the night dragged on, he was finding that intrigue had been replaced, quite some time ago now, by something more solemn.

There was a sentimentality to Kaz that he'd only briefly liked; as a childhood, it had marked him out as a crybaby, a useless brat unfit to inherit anything that had been intended for him, and as an adult, it was a weakness. A pathetic, disgusting vulnerability and a great, gaping black hole that he kept hidden away under the layers of the thick fur coat upon which he'd come to rely during these harsh Alaskan winters. It was only in those strange, distant, dreamlike years of his twenties that he'd ever known how to embrace this part of his own personality; back when they'd cup their hands around his cheeks and wipe the tears away with their thumb, when they'd brush back the harshly-dyed brown strands of his hair and press their forehead against his, whispering with mock-dramatic indignation that he wasn't an ugly enough crier. They'd wrap their arms tight around his slender form and pull him in close, and, just for a moment, he'd forget what it meant to suffer. I love you, I love everything about you, including all the things you love, he'd once thought to himself, so if you love me in spite of all these useless emotions, maybe I can too. As long as you're here, I think I could do that. They'd have loved something like this event too. They'd always been fond of the sort of lively, vibrant festivities Kaz had dismissed as silly and a waste of time. It had always been a natural reaction on his part, an inability to express excitement that had been beaten into his head since birth, but he'd always been willing to let them sweep him away in it all, dragged by the hand through each and every festivity until they inevitably fell into each others arms, peals of laughter escaping from their tired and ragged bodies.

Whenever that sentimentality returned to him and he began to reflect on the past, Kaz grew impatient and he grew irritable. Tonight, that had driven him off to the Pumpkin Patch, lit cigarette between his fingers and peals of smoke curling into the thin mist of the frosty night. There were few people here and therefore fewer chances of him snapping and taking out his mounting irritation on some unsuspecting stranger who'd then run off and gossip about how Councilman Amuro was a stark raving lunatic. He'd walked the length of this thing a few times now but he found that, in doing so, he was beginning to burn off the frustration buzzing beneath his skin. He'd have been quite content to maintain this pace, going back and forth and using his diminished – but slowly returning – sense of clarity to avoid stepping in discarded pumpkin mush. However, on this last lap around the crowded patch, he'd nearly run into the crouched form of a stranger, one who struck him as impeccably poorly dressed for the weather. Kaz stopped abruptly, a foot or so away from this stranger, a complaint already on his lips; he had intended to tell them to get up and out of the way, to stop blocking the damn path but, somehow, this stranger had managed to come out with something enough to leave Kaz speechless. (He didn't like that. Not knowing what to say made him uneasy.) He narrowed his eyes, meaning to ask the other man just what the fuck he was on about when, in that brief moment of silence, he heard it. The fizzing.

“Maybe I'd hear it better if you'd shut up for a minute,” Kaz hissed, his voice dropping to a whisper. The mile-a-minute questions had done nothing to impress him. The irritation, despite his best efforts, was beginning to surface again. There was no doubt about it though, that sound was coming from...Kaz tore his eyes away from the stranger's face, dragging his gaze slowly over the bulbous shape of a large, grotesque pumpkin stood in the middle of the patch. He'd been so lost in his own thoughts that he had hardly noticed it. Yet it seemed strange that he should have missed it, the face carved into it one of strained agony, its fleshly lips coated in the thick stringy layers of its own innards.”What is th--”

A strong blast of air hit Kaz square in the chest and he hit the ground hard. It had sounded, for a moment, as though something had exploded but, for the ringing in his ears, the dark spots in his vision and the distant feeling of something digging into his thigh, he could hardly tell.

when: 31 october, late with: @morphemeta where: the pumpkin patch, all hallow's evil

Un-fucking-believable. The storm currently raging in Naji’s heart was difficult to understand, even for himself, a dizzying mess of regret, affection, annoyance, grief— Seeing Mark in a matching costume to his, literally the love interest of the character he was masquerading as, after the screeching halt Naji had put to their torrid affair weeks ago was shocking, to say the least. And paired with the sound of Mark calling out to him as Naji stormed away, dodging through the swells of the crowd, professing a need to talk? God, Naji wished he could just go to his car and drive home; but he was stuck here until his younger sister and her friends decided they were done.

His own words swirled around inside his head for the umpteenth time in weeks as he stalked over to the pumpkin patch, which looked clear enough at the moment to walk around in and take a breather. You need to decide if you actually want me, because I'm not gonna let you use me as a rebound. Was the Megara costume his best friend donned an act of contrition? A confession more candid than the steamy nights they'd shared? It was all far too much for the self-admitted simple mind to parse, especially in such a crowded, public area. Living his own life, practically raising his own sister, and then holding up his friend's mental health was becoming too much even for the strong-willed firefighter; the resurfacing of Addisorn was supposed to lift some weight off everyone's shoulders, but nobody was expecting them to turn up in such an unfortunate state.

Pulling off his bright orange wig and feeling the cold Alaskan air hit his sweaty scalp, Naji stopped and stared into middle distance as he gnashed his teeth, using the hairpiece as a stress toy—squishing it between his hands, and then pulling it apart. It would require an act of God to rescue this thing for future use, though he wasn't much certain about being cartoon Hercules again. With all of this skin exposed, his artificial knee and tibia were beginning to ache from the cold seeping in—and he still wasn't a huge fan of the long surgical scar running down his entire knee and half of his shin, which was on full display all night. Would his sister be ready to go home soon?

“Is that thing…making noise?” Naji half-mumbled, lured from the chaos of his own thoughts, rattled from hearing such a strange sound coming from a pumpkin. He crouched down to hear it better, dark brows furrowing as he leaned in and listened. “Tell me that's not fucking…sizzling, like…like bacon in a pan,” he spoke incredulously, casting barely a look towards the presence who'd just halted near him. “You hear that too, right? It's not just my tinnitus acting up? It doesn't sound like ringing or buzzing or electricity."

[morphemeta]

Whether or not other people caught feelings was of little concern to Kaz. He just didn't want them showing up at his door with complaints. By next year, they'd all forget anyway, such was the way of things in Anchorage and, even if they didn't forget, they'd move on so long as they weren't personally affected. The people of this town did not cling to things that occured out of their own circles and that was precisely what spurred on the circle of tragedy that sat at the centre of this place, like a hungry vortex. As for this guy's response, Kaz suspected he'd already decided that last year's party had nothing to do with him. As expected, as expected. Kaz was confident the skeletons would return the following year without anyone stealing so much as a second glance.

Kaz waited, with a bland expression, for him to finish clapping and singing before cutting in, his voice offering about as much warmth as the Alaskan trundra itself, to say, "Stop that. You look like an idiot." He was a little irritated now, as determined as he was not to let any of that bleed onto his face. Kaz had a rather uncanny ability to keep his anger all swallowed up and out of sight. As a council member, a public figure, he simply could not afford to let the cracks show. (But Barney? BARNEY? Even if it was a joke, it was not one Kaz appreciated.) The shop may have just been a side business but it had been a strange little passion project and had come from a place of sincere love and respect for everything that made horror and the supernatural what they were. "You know, I only said something terrifying wouldn't work," he sighed. "Personally, I consider jump scares cheap and lazy. Good horror is far more subtle. There's something wonderful about a certain eeriness. Something creepy." A pause; he tapped his lips with his finger.

The Godzilla question seemed to Kaz as though it had come out of nowhere and he had to do a double-take before his brain finally process that, yes, that was what he'd been asked. "Of course I have," he said. "Just like any other self-respecting child of the Showa era with an interest in genre fiction." (Not that Kaz had expected a total stranger to have automatically picked up on where he was from; he'd never really lost the accent, true, but he was being derisive just for the sake of it.) Now, truth be told, he'd never been able to watch Godzilla, or indeed anything like that, at home. If his parents hadn't considered something to culturally enlightening or educationally enrichening, it wasn't an option. Just as he'd pretend to go to the library and sneak out to watch old horror movies, he spend many evenings as a teenager going to a friend's house on the conceit that he'd be studying, only to watch janky old sci-fi movies and episode after episode of Mobile Suit Gundam on VHS instead. "What makes you bring up Godzilla?"

Bryn watched the other as they spoke. Giving a nod before glancing away, “You don't say? Is it?” Looking back toward the said up, he squints. Not really sure what else to say. He was waiting for the 'but' in his input. Listening to the other talk about how they usually put skeletons into the decorations, Bryn gives another nod at this. He thought skeletons were neat. Not as neat as other things, like cryptids or aliens. To him, this display was a little more boring. Of course, he would jump at a jump scare. It was an instinctual response to most. Bryn glances from the building to the other as he listens to them, “Right. Yeah.” He makes a face at this, playing along as if he thought that it was a good reason the other was giving him.

“Wouldn't want people to catch a feeling or something, due to something that happened a year ago.” Of course, maybe, he considered, he might be being a bit insensitive. People died! He should be concerned. He should be sympathetic! Perhaps he was, but he wasn't letting that cripple him. And he really had no connection to it all, at that. Bryn makes a noise with his mouth absently, his gaze moving away to something else he could look at. “ I guess then, uh, add some Teletubbies and the Barney theme song. People will feel at least more amenable to that? Right?” He suggested, with a tone of sarcasm underlying his voice. He pauses for a moment, “Certainly will attract a more positive atmosphere-” Lifting his hands up, he slowly clapped to the rhythm of Barney's theme song, “Slow, you know? Maybe find someone more haunting to sing it for you.” He cleared his throat.

Resisting the urge for only a moment, to not sing before starting, “-IIiii Looove youuu. Yooooou looove meeee. We're a happy faamaallyeee-haahaa-” Clapping slowly as he did this, he stared at Kaz, keeping his face expressionless, but in an eerie-sounding key, still, wonderfully sung for what it was. Then he suddenly laughed and turned his head away, “And then!- A Giant purple dinosaur drops out from behind the sign and gives everyone a big hug.” Clearing his throat once more, stopping himself from laughing at his own stupid nonsense. Then Bryn waved his left hand, “But, whatever. You'll figure something out.” Though as he thought about it, it seemed that skeletons would be off the decorations list for some time, due to the tragedies. Shaking his head at this understanding, Bryn went back to staring at the building, seeing if he had any more bright ideas.

As Kaz had spoken on, worrying over senior citizens and lawsuits he lift his head up, then remembered, or right, he was supposed to care about that? That was a normal thing to care about! “Yeeeaaahh. I guess that is something to think about.” He supposed it wasn't really something he had to think about. He rarely had this issue or interacted with old people. But, in this, he realized, Kaz was leaning more into the concern of other people. Which was the right thing to do. Bryn wasn't going to disrespect that. But he could imagine he wasn't going to be able to offer much in the way of suggestions then. Because he really liked these spooky things. Maybe because most aliens or the like were in media as such, “You ever watch a Godzilla movie?”

[morphemeta]

As it turned out, the face that appeared before Kaz now was a familar enough one. He didn't often bother to darken to doorway of the Daily Diem, not without a specific reason or purpose, but he'd dealt with them long enough to recognise enough of its team. Whether or not the team was fond of Kaz was neither here nor there, so long as the owner of the place remained fond of the little deal they'd worked out together. Now, despite this little detail (a matter some people might just consider illicit behaviour), Kaz was generally quite keen to stay on good enough terms with the people of Anchorage, if only because a decent reputation provided fewer obstacles. That, and he didn't particularly revel in being wholly unpleasant to people who didn't deserve it.

Graveyard? The only response Kaz could muster up was a look of tired disappointment, upper lip curled and an eyebrow raised. It was the sort of look that said, 'whatever you've just said is very wrong and I have chosen to take that as a personal affront '. Kaz crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head, in what was an intentionally grating display, before finally replying. Whether or not it was a joke, Kaz wasn't particularly interested; he was far more ready to wrap himself up in semantics and details. There wasn't much that Kaz took too seriously but, alas, his beloved horror literature had become something bordering on sacred to him. "It's Dracula. Dracula's Coffin Club," he said, a finger pointed towards the sign dangling from the eaves that overhung the shop's entrance. There were bound to be different opinions on the matter, depending on who you asked, but visible dead bodies did not strike Kaz as paritcularly vampyric.

"Tacky," said Kaz, with another exaggerated sigh. He pronounced the word with the vowels elongated and the consonants fully enunciated. "The candy corn, that is. I can't have anything cutesy." This part, he said with a little more patience, having grown conscious of the fact he was being needlessly short with the editor. "Why, is the scary stuff not sitting well with you?" A laugh, although not an unkind one. He glanced back over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. "I suppose it is an acquired taste."

Ulysses was in the midst of pressing the tip of his middle finger to the pressure point on the inner corner of his left eye. He often did this when he felt a migraine coming on — especially one which formed due to tension. These days, everything was so fucking tense, all the time. Too many headlines to run, too many grammar errors to catch. When was a guy supposed to get a break? Never. To be a journalist, even one stuck at the editor's desk, cigarette smoke wafting from the forgotten nub as he combed through his cropped hair, was to constantly be on. Constantly be on the search, the prowl, the hunt. He wasn't that old yet, but a bloodhound was still a lazy dog, and that was precisely what Ulysses named himself to be.

Being snapped at, like aforementioned dog, bristled him as it might a naughty one who needed more obedience training. ( He can be a dog for — not for you. Nope, not for you! ) The exhausted sneer formed before an opinion actually did. What was that thought he just had? Always having to be on? Much less to a city councilman. Even if that man was — well. You know. ( Ulysses didn't know. He only ever had his intuitions, which blended with natural suspicion. That was why he hunted. ) "Uh. Well. I'd say you got the basics covered. Fake blood trail, upright coffin showing off the velvet." Five o'clock shadow bristled too beneath his wandering fingertips as he stroked his chin. "Just need a real body, right? Graveyard's open for business."

He delivered this rather deadpan. This might be a suggestion, or it might be hinting around. Or it might be a joke. Ulysses loved to be a mystery. He often failed. Often was too hellbent on being truthful, or uncovering it to his own demise. "Don't take my word for that. Maybe we go the opposite direction. Those, uh, paper candy corn or pumpkin streamers, right?" Observing Kaz's deep thinking. "Kinda gotta add some kitsch to it, or else it'll scare everybody away."

[morphemeta]

Any offense taken to anything he said or did was not of any concern, nor of any consequence, to Kaz. Just as people were entitled to their own opinions and feelings, he was well within his right not to care about them. Still, Kaz couldn't help but quirk a quizzical eyebrow at the look of distrust on this strangers face. He rather enjoyed catching people off guard like that.

"How funny you should say that," said Kaz, turning his attention back to his incomplete display. "That's precisiely what's missing." And, he was saying this in the most literal sense too; it was not that this suggestion had sparked any inspiration, it was just there had been skeletons here once. Now, there were none. "I usually do include skeletons, you see," he went on, "But after the fiasco at that Halloween party last year, I thought it might seem...distasteful." He did not elaborate on this. Didn't see the need to. By now, most people would have at least grasped the vaguest rumours of what had gone down at that party. It was not everyday that a man is crushed to death by a giant skeleton prop. Of course, it was not as though Kaz had been in attendance himself, as he had better things to be doing than galavanitng around at a party hosted by some troubled movie star who believed he could buy his way out of small town boredom, but his role in the City Council rather demanded he stayed clued up on these things. "The people of this town like to forget about their tragedies and move on from them, I can't imagine they'd like to reminded of it."

Kaz then turned to face this stranger once more, blinking a few times as he processed his suggestion. For a moment, Kaz struggled to find the words for what he wanted to say -- this was a feat in and of itself, getting Kaz Amuro to shut his mouth was no simple task. "Terrifying," he said, finally, speaking the word slowly, as though he was trying it out for size and finding it didn't quite fit. "I suppose. I'd be one senior citizen with a weak heart away from a lawsuit, however." (Not that he couldn't afford to foot the legal bill and settle things quietly out of court like nothing had ever happened but...what a hassle.)

Having been out most of the morning until now, Bryn was skating around here and there, where he could. Or jogging from one place to another, not particularly doing much but running errands. He was jogging up toward the Dracula's Coffin Club at that moment. Which he always found fascinating. Though at the moment there seemed to be a weirdo standing outside of it. Catching the furry black coat they were sporting he slows down in his approach to the building. Swallowing as he looked away and tried to not make eye contact with the person.

That was very important to him. Not making eye contact with strange people standing outside of even stranger buildings. Especially when those builds had the name Dracula Coffin in it. Particularly when those places, seemed like nothing more than child's play. He liked it, but, still, it seemed very silly to him regardless of this like. As he came closer, still keeping on the sidewalk, Bryn stared ahead. He understood the dramatics of the place, of course. It, to him, needed to be this way. As he was preparing to quickly rush by the building and the man, they spoke to him and snapped their fingers.

Bryn paused at this, looking at the man's hand and then their face, almost as if he were somewhat offended by this. However, he quickly put on a smile instead of an offended look. Whether this stranger was strange, or not. He didn't feel right to meet them with annoyance. Looking over toward the building, he narrowed his eyes a bit and then nodded his head in agreement, “Yeah. It does.” Looking back to the other, he watched them cross their arms and press a finger to their lips. With the question, he gave a shrug. Seeing as they were questioning he cleared his throat, “You need more bones. Add more skeletons. Everyone loves skeletons. Ooo, maybe make them dance?”

“You know maybe have one of the skeletons with a motion detector in it scream anytime someone enters, and fall down from behind the sign, like it's about to attack them. Won't that be terrifying?” He offered, quite pleased at his suggestion.

[morphemeta]

[morphemeta]

Kaz quietly nodded, as if to imply he'd taken the suggestion onboard. In reality, he hardly even put it aside for further consideration. Still, he'd play along, if just to be polite. "I've never heard of a tasteful Halloween display," he said, with short, but not entirely derisive, laugh. "Not one worth anyone's time, anyway. In fact, I'd say taste flies in the very face of the holiday, wouldn't you?" His first encounter with Halloween on a major skcale had been in his very late teens, when he'd first moved to NYC, and he'd been immediately taken with it, not just because of its connections to the world of horror he loved so dearly but because it was so garish. It was ghoulish and ridiculous and everything that had been denied of him during his dreary, strict childhood. Indeed, it was his belief that taste and Halloween were polar opposites, never intended to meet in the middle.

"I can't say distraction should really be the goal either," said Kaz, a little more discerning now. It was his belief that successful decorations came together in harmony, as if to tell a story, even if they were by themselves campy enough to be an eyesore. "More is not always better. There's such a thing as going overboad." He turned to her, his gaze catching the shopping bags that hung from her arms, and raised an eyebrow, pointedly. Yet, to say that he really cared about this was a lie; Kaz was a fancier of expensive goods himself and how others spent their money did not interest him the least. But it was always good practice to keep people on their toes. "I hope that's not supposed to shock me," said Kaz, with a bored look. He was, of course, referring to her costume preferences. "But I wouldn't waste my life worrying about judgement if I were you. It's a perfect way to kill off any last scrap of imagination a person has left."

October was a month-long celebration for Saylor, whose birthday had fallen on the nineteenth and therefore permitted that she take advantage of the time preceding it by maxing out her credit cards and disemboweling her piggy bank for the tips she'd hoarded from work since the beginning of the year. For someone whose impulse control was largely dictated by her mood and how bored she had driven herself, she was surprisingly stringent about her birthday funds. This tradition had carried on from childhood, when she could vaguely paint memories of her mother showering her in material possessions that kept her preoccupied from her parents deteriorating marriage. You deserve it all, Say Say, her mother would coo as she gifted her a new cellphone at the ripe age of thirteen; money was an excellent pacifier, she found, so why would she relinquish that for a healthier or more mindful habit? It hadn't yet betrayed her—though, that could be attributed to the fact she relied upon her employers for most of her income.

After indulging in a gross overspending spree in the local shopping center, Saylor was wandering aimlessly through the streets as she thumbed through the remaining cash left in her wallet and hummed a song under her breath. While the weather was miserly nowadays, she could not remain cooped up indoors for too long, lest she contracted cabin fever and grew absolutely insufferable to those around her. However, she had made the devastating choice to forfeit her pumps in favor of a pair of knee-high boots that also sported an elevated heel, just so she could still feel like a woman and not a fucking sledder.

You. The accusatory bite in the stranger's words had stalled Saylor. She halted, icy eyes drifting from where her reddened fingertips were brushing against the bills she had overflowing from her wallet, a steely gaze stuck on who had called for her attention. "Missing something?" she repeated, cocking her head sideways in mock interest. "Taste, maybe? Or at the very least more decorations that can fill in all that empty space. It'll distract from the rest." Was she an expert on design? No, she wasn't, but she was adept in irritating others whenever they interrupted her flow. "I could be biased. I only really like Halloween because it gives me an excuse to wear something slutty without judgment."

[morphemeta]

𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙺 𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙸𝙺𝙴𝚂 …

 happy 46th birthday dearest HIROKAZU AMURO  ,

come drop your presents & send wishes if you may                             find out more about character birthdays here !

[morphemeta]

Aha, thought Kaz. Peter Weiss' brat. Like many of the people whose paths Kaz crossed, he knew Romi Weiss just well enough to recognise her but not enough to know the first thing about her outside of what little he'd heard from her father. Kaz was quite happy with that, he tended to lose interest the very moment his fellow council members starting talking domestic life. Peter Weiss in particular was a nasty piece of work and Kaz did not care for him or his presence on the Council. Kaz was not afraid to use dirty tactics to get ahead nor could anybody say he was a bastion of morality but even he had principles. (It also brought him no satisfaction that both he and Mr Weiss had come to Anchorage from New York City in particular, even if Kaz had come here many years sooner and had started out somewhere else altogether.) Turning to face Romi, onto whom he would not project his distaste for his father and towards whom he held no particular opinions whatsoever, Kaz returned her smile. His smile was far more pleasant than hers but it was also the deliberately cloying sort of smile, best used when letting a person know that their blunt remarks were little more than trivialities.

"And what would you have me do instead? Clap? Shout? Yell and holller?" asked Kaz, with good humour. "It's not good for my voice; these low temperatures are terrible for the throat as it is, you know." With that, Kaz pulled a cigarette from his pocket, slipped it between his teeth and lit it, all in one clean fluid motion, as though it were a piece of practiced choreography. Despite what he'd just said, this action did not make him a hypocrite. Oh, quite the contrary, this was all very deliberate. Kaz wasn't even much of a smoker but he rather liked to confuse people and get on their nerves.

Kaz took a long drag of the cigarette and, when his mouth was free of smoke, he shook his head and sucked in air through his teeth in a sort of half-hearted grimace. "Not much for manners, are we?" Kaz frowned. In reality, he did not mind it one bit and, if anything, he was even vaguely tickled by her bluntness. "I've paid people to help set things up, yes, but the ideas are all my own. There's only so much I can do here by myself. I'm not as young as I used to be." This was another deliberate warping of the truth. Kaz kept himself in very good shape and was easily as spry as any man half his age. If anything, he was in much better condition now than he'd ever been in his 20s. And, yet, there was nothing to be gained from this lie, save for the amusement of lying just for lying's sake. "And, it's always good to get a second opinion. If you lack the imagination for this sort of thing, Miss Weiss, you may as well say so."

Now that it was October, they were lucky if the daily high got above fifty degrees Fahrenheit. However, it didn't bother Romi too much. Having been born and raised in New York City, it felt like a mid-November day and she didn't mind the cool breeze in the air. Her vintage fur coat on her shoulders, she was walking past the Coffin Club when someone snapped their fucking fingers at her. At first, she didn't even realize who was addressing her, far too irritated by the fact that she was being treated like a fucking dog. Her first reaction was to flip him off and keep walking--but then she actually caught glimpse of the person that was attempting to speak to her.

"Kaz Amuro, I know you're not snapping your fingers at me," she said with a smile on her face that was anything but cheerful. Mr. Hirokazu Amuro was on the Council with her father, whom she also couldn't stand. In another life, had Peter Weiss gotten his way, the blonde would be six feet under the ground in an unmarked grave, never to be heard from again. However, ever since she'd blown into Anchorage and come back into her father's life, she had him unwillingly wrapped around her finger and she wasn't about to let that kind of leverage go. "And what, pray tell, the fuck are you asking me for? Don't you have people that you pay to do this shit for you?"

[morphemeta]

dracula's coffin club, early october / @anchoragestarters

October. Halloween. Harvest time for the owners of businesses dealing with occult, the spooky, the dark and dreary and whatever other haunting things of which you might think. For Dracula's Coffin Club, this was peak season (and, indeed, Halloween may as well have been Christmas) and, almost as soon as the sun had first dawned on the tenth month, Kaz had set to work on getting the place decorated. Some of this would have been done by hand, other parts handled by the kinds of professionals who specialised in dressing shop windows. There was little doubt he likely had more important work to be doing with regards to the City Council but he would always carve time out at this time of year to focus on the Coffin Club. If there had been any objections to this early on, they had fallen on death ears. Kaz was the sort of man who followed through with his plans.

For now, he was stood just outside the shop itself, clad in a thick black furry coat and frowning at its facade; although he'd spend twenty-odd years in Anchorage, he'd never quite acclimated to the weather. By now, the people of Rabbit Creek had likely gotten used to the shop's annual makeover but Kaz was never quite satisfied with his work. It wasn't quite perfect, it needed to be better. Yet he was at a loss. As loathe as he was to admit, nothing new was coming to him but the simple relief was that it would be easy enough to find outside help. After all, it only took a few short minutes of waiting before someone stopped in their tracks to take in the store's Halloween display.

"You," said Kaz with a snap of his fingers, addressing the passerby without a hint of hesitation or self-reservation. When you were very good at commanding attention, those were not the kind of worries you had to nurture. "This display. It feels incomplete somehow." He crossed his arms over his chest and pressed a finger against pursed lips. "What's missing?" Although it was not directly said, it was clear that this was his way of opening the floor to suggestions.