#* 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 : do as the romans do.

[plexiglassed]

006:   𝐣𝐨𝐞   𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐠'𝐬   𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦   𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞

woodsboro,   california   -   1996.   a   year   ago,   joe   goldberg   received   physical   evidence   that   his   father,   hank   goldberg,   and   his   girlfriend’s   mother,   maureen   prescott,   were   having   an   affair.   distraught   by   the   news,   debbie   goldberg   decides   to   leave   her   husband   to   raise   her   son   on   her   own,   but   eventually   ends   up   abandoning   joe   and   leaving   him   to   be   raised   by   his   father   instead.   roman,   mrs.   prescott’s   illegitimate   son   and   the   one   who   also   gave   joe   the   tape   of   the   affair,   convinces   joe   that   murder   is   the   only   option   for   revenge.   

with   his   best   friend,   stu   macher,   by   his   side,   they   plan   the   murder   and   frame   one   of   maureen’s   many   lovers,   cotton   weary.   with   a   taste   for   blood   and   the   excitement   of   hiding   behind   a   mask   as   disguise,   both   of   the   young   men   continue   to   wreak   havoc   in   woodsboro.   bodies   begin   to   show   up   left   and   right   as   they   perfect   their   craft   -   late   night   phone   calls   with   a   side   of   stalking.   

between   the   anniversary   of   mrs.   prescott’s   death   and   the   breaking   news   of   a   couple   of   teenagers   having   been   murdered,   sidney   is   on   edge.   she   hasn’t   been   the   same   since   her   mom   died   and   joe   makes   sure   he   is   there   for   her   in   any   way   possible.   he   shows   up   to   her   house   late   one   night,   but   not   as   himself   -   as   ghost   face.   he   terrifies   sidney   to   the   point   where   she   attempts   calling   the   police.   and   just   as   ghost   face   disappears,   joe   appears   outside   her   bedroom   window.   he   knows   it’s   wrong,   but   he   enjoys   being   needed   more   and   will   do   whatever   it   takes   to   have   sidney   in   his   arms.   

things   go   south   when   a   cell   phone   falls   from   joe’s   pocket   while   comforting   sidney   after   the   attack   -   assumed   by   her   to   be   the   same   one   that   was   making   a   call   to   her   home   earlier   that   night.   deputy   dewey   ends   up   finding   the   ghost   face   mask   on   the   scene   and   joe   is   accused   of   terrorizing   sidney   and   is   arrested   and   taken   to   the   police   station.   upon   release   with   no   evidence   against   him,   he   returns   to   his   girlfriend’s   life.   but   to   no   avail,   it   doesn’t   appear   to   work.   

in   a   fit   of   rage   over   sidney   not   trusting   him   any   longer,   joe   murders   her   best   friend,   tatum,   in   the   garage   at   a   small   house   party   -   permanently   severing   ties   to   the   one   person   who   would   be   on   sidney’s   side.   moments   later,   he   shows   up   to   the   party   as   himself   and   goes   off   to   talk   with   sidney   and   apologize   to   her   for   the   things   he   said   as   a   last   and   final   attempt   of   reconciliation.   the   conversation   leads   to   them   having   sex,   but   as   soon   as   sidney   begins   questioning   and   showing   an   inkling   of   doubt,   joe   snaps   like   a   rubber   band   and   it’s   revealed   that   ghost   face   has   been   himself   and   stu   all   along.   after   a   long   winded   chase   throughout   the   house   and   right   before   he   brutally   murders   sidney,   she   asks   why   he’s   doing   all   of   this   and   his   answer   is   a   simple   one   -   vengeance.

[newsworth]

@halechief: i miss being half of something.

“you were so much more than half,  claire.”   an instinct gets the best of him and causes him to say that,  but a chill begins to settle in the aftermath as he chews on what she means.  what she’s really saying about her marriage to francis,  what he might spend the rest of his life wondering about but never truly understand.   what it means to find something of yourself in another person,   and whats left of you when they’re gone.   for a while,  all that lingers between them is her cigarette smoke,  suspended in a cloud,  brightened under the moon.   he clears his throat.   “what do you miss most about it?”

[newsworth]

@halechief​ said,  “i've always hated this place.”

the air is thin and sterile as it burns in his chest with every shallow inhale,  tenuous upon the intermittent beeping in the background of her labored breathing.  he was almost too uncomfortable to make much noise,  or do anything that would disturb the atmosphere,   even if the atmosphere didn’t truly feel designed to promote genuine healing outside of what the machines could do for her.

“so have i.”   strictly speaking the doctors have not advised her against talking.   it just feels reckless for her to get worked up.  however,  it would be especially cruel to deny her a place to put her anger at a time like this.  he picks up his chair to face it more towards her bed,  lifting the legs off the ground so they wouldn’t grate against the tile.  “hospitals always make me feel small.” 

it’s for that reason that chris has made almost comical attempts to avoid them when the costs were only to himself.  this time there was nowhere else for him to be but here,   and he wouldn’t leave until she asked,  or she was leaving with him.  “what’re you thinking about, claire?”

[newsworth]

@tahitiwoke​ said,  “if i had standards or scruples, i wouldn’t be here.”

     “well,  i have enough standards for the both of us and i’d like to leave.”   it’s been decided that phil is in no condition to be driving anywhere.  decided by chris,   anyway.  as the person that was for whatever reason summoned to this hole in the wall to deal with a growingly less sober phil coulson by the minute,   he feels entitled to make that call.

     “c’mon,  i won’t charge you as much as a taxi.  we’ll figure out a way to pick up your car in the morning.”   there’s a look of understanding between chris and the bartender when he hands over his card to close out phil’s tab that is the cut off point.  “let’s go,  i’m taking you home.”

[newsworth]

@tahitiwoke​ said,  “you have to stop treating me like the enemy.”

“i’ve only been responding to the precedent you set,  phil,”   chris smiles,  something small but sharp,  like the needles end.  "and i don’t like not being allowed to do what i was hired to do.”

[newsworth]

@tahitiwoke​ said,  “'right' is a tiny box made by people who feel afraid.”

this feels like coulson is testing him,   wading his fingers through the waters of the new guy’s conscience,  checking if it runs as cold as it’s obviously expected to.  

after a few moments of consideration,  weighing all of his options,  chris shakes his head.  “i disagree.”  he goes back to shuffling through the papers on his desk and putting them in their respective piles.  he’s only been here for a few days,   but the space he’s taken up already looks pretty well lived in.  “i can see how that mentality might be valuable in your position.   maybe even mine,   sometimes.   but generally that’s not how i see things.”

[newsworth]

@ingeanue said: reminder i'd like us to JUST stay friends! i know that is difficult for you!

" why even take it that far when being pre-acquaintances suits us much better? “  which is an odd thing to say as he paints a clay face mask onto her forehead with his finger tips,  but he’s doing so with a strictly platonic tenderness.  “ i thought we didn’t like labels. “

[newsworth]

*  @gunbash​  :   liked for a starter.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧   the mid day heat feels like more of a soothe than a sting on the back of his neck.   the sun brings the brick street of the market to a brilliant red and envelopes the district in the fever of july.   it’s thawing him ,   wringing the tension of out his body without needing to be asked.   

that’s what summer is for.    he enjoys spending a handful of its sundays here ,   tasting the tang of fresh peaches on the breeze and testing the skill of leatherwork ,   the soft grain under his thumb.   but he rarely takes any of it home with him. 

“   flea markets remind me of my mom.    “   he says  to sebastian ,   looking at him between the dangling strands of a home crafted wind chime.   he reaches up and catches one of its swinging pieces of buffed sea glass in his fingers.   “   she’d go nuts over this sort of thing.   have you ever been here before?  “