#cusastart

[macwalsh]

who: open starter!  what: ma(c)gician where: the game room 

Mackenzie always felt out of place at this sort of thing, despite being surrounded by his closest friends. The Hollys were the sort of people who would certainly turn up their noses at him on a regular day, particularly Danny and David, but played nice when everyone was watching. He’d never understood the upper crusters of Cherry, and somehow understood them even less now that he was involved with Harvey. How they could have all the resources in the world at their fingertips, and still deprive their children of like... decent parenting was a mystery to him. Especially when Leo had done everything he could to make Mac’s childhood a happy one, despite how hard he had to work, despite how little they had for most of it. 

It’s all this that has led Mac to pouring something a little stronger in his drinks every year since he was fifteen, not too much, but just enough to get through the evening. This year he was particularly heavy handed, needing something to relax him enough to keep his mouth shut around Harvard II. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold back the rage that bubbled in his stomach every time he saw the man lately. 

“Is this your card?” he asks, cursing under his breath when the person across from him indicates that it isn’t, “Okay, okay- wait. Let me search my brain... Jedi shit... eight of clubs?” 

[zahrajackson]

who: open

what: complaining. a Classic(tm)

where: the Teen Zone (aka where the parents aren’t)

Zahra had done her due diligence - she’d spent time circling the room amongst H.A.H colleagues (if they counted as such when you were only an intern), endured small talk and photos of people’s ugly babies and Elaine being that special kind of Elaine she got at events like this, and avoided her dad spotting her at the bar. With any luck, the important people would remember her as a smart, confident young woman with a bright future and the unimportant people would be too intimidated to approach her again. But right now, she needed a break from all that in the living room.

“The only thing saving this hot chocolate is the Amaretto I stole -  like, I swear they made this shit with water and powder which is fucking embarrassing, honestly,” Zahra says as she kicks a chair out to sit down, one drink set down on the table for the other person and the other held in her hand. “Holly’s’ve gotta step their game up if they're gonna host this kinda thing in their damn mansion.”

[donnyholly]

who: open ! what: donny thinks ur gonna tell him about mount everest where: the holly holiday party!

As all H.A.H parties tended to do, the party had begun without a hitch. Amongst all the accommodations -- the drinks, the food, the decor -- what really shined? David’s speech. It was perfectly inauthentic, but Donny had to keep those thoughts to himself! He may have been the second-choice son, treated as more of an inconvenience, but he still had to save face.  Faux smile, his eyes scanned the crowd. As he began tapping on his flute of sparkling grape juice champagne, a shadow cast upon him. Alright. Time to strike up conversation.  “Oh! It’s so nice to see you here-” - and he dropped the tone, eyes reaching the face of one of his and/or his brother’s friends. They weren’t exactly unaware of the distaste Donny had for the charade his family -- and almost all other H.A.H members -- put up. “-Sorry about that. There’s been a lot of...” - a vague gesture towards the crowd. He was sure they could finish the sentence for themselves.

[winnifredwu]

who: open! what: winnie? annoyed? shocking! where: band club request line

In a break between songs, Winnie took a moment to stand and stretch out her back. Keeping good posture at her piano exhausted her after a while and she needed to feel like she was cracking her vertebrae. What she really wanted was a cigarette (damn past Winnie for picking up the habit while trying to look cool) but she didn’t have any. As she leaned forward to try to touch her toes (and hopefully crack her back) she didn’t notice someone approaching her until their shoes entered her field of vision. “If you’re here to request Free Bird,” she spoke, strained from her leaned over position. “I’ll tell you what I told th-the last guy,” as she spoke she straightened back up, looking the other person in the eye. “It’s not on th-the list, and it’s not even a good song. Stop asking.”

[ofjaspars]

𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗡 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗘𝗥!​​ 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧: have a little buzzfeed unsolved quote starter in honour of spooky season with a little stompin’ grapes spin thrown in x  𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘: wherever grape merch can be purchased 

“He looks really happy, actually.” Jaspar says to the person who appears alongside him at what must be the smallest table in the parking lot, as a hand reaches out to gesture at hat he can only assume must be a figurine of the Stompin Grapes’ mascot. “Look at that little face. He looks like he’s eatin’ grapes.”

[roryjackson-archived]

who: open what: stress <3 where: back behind the equipment shed

Homecoming always looked fun in the movies. It was a quintessential college experience, and here Rory was, a complete nervous wreck hiding behind the equipment shed just to get some air. But she hadn’t really expected anyone else to come wandering back there. “Oh my god- sorry-” she blurted out. “I was just, trying not to hurl! Don’t mind me!” It was meant to sound like a joke (even though it was totally true), but nothing about her wavering voice sounded convincing, even to her. Her chest felt too tight, like her ribs were collapsing inwards under the pressure. “Sorry, I won’t puke if you want to hide out here too.” Her stomach turned again and she paled unconvincingly. “Probably.” 

[pilarhamilton]

who: open

what: complaining

where: potluck time babey

Pilar frowned as she scanned the table, manicured nail idly tapping her commemorative plate. She flicked open another box of pizza and rolled her eyes at it as someone came to stand beside her. “Why are literally all the pizzas I’m finding covered in anchovies?” she complained, half to herself and half to the lucky person who was now here to listen. “Like, there’s no way these are popular enough to be put out first.”

[harveyiii]

WHO: HARVEY AND ANYONE WHAT: HE’S PRETENDING FOR HIS DAD, so like you could call him out, or tell him you don’t care, or idk, he’s just an emo boy getting ready for his football game WHERE: THE POTLUCK

Harvey had always felt this deep responsibility in his bones to be the life of the party. He was Harvey Hargrove The Third - he was the man with the house, and the life, and everything everyone wanted. He was the captain of the Football team, and president of the Fraternity. Maybe that was what made it so easy to float through the potluck, and why it was so easy to fake the cheesy grin dipped over his lips. 

Wasn’t it only right to pretend that he was having the time of his life with his privilege? Wasn’t it only right to put on a show? 

The truth was that Harvey didn’t really know. Regardless of his knowledge of the nuance of Public Appearances, though, he knew the feeling of his father’s eyes on the back of his head like he knew his ABC’s, and that meant... pretending - well, for as long as he could in the face of the Gang. Even if not all of them were his friends right now. 

It was easy to see the way his perfect mask fell the moment he locked eyes with [INSERT NAME HERE] - even if the smile never left his lips. It was just a little more hollow now: like he was caught. Playing pretend again, Harvey Hargrove? Shame on you. 

“Hey,” Harvey choked the words out over the table of Chili that separated them; they lingered for a moment, before falling and bubbling into one of the stray crockpots: ‘Southwest Style - spicy!’ 

“He’s not looking is he?” When in doubt, bring up your Daddy issues, right? Harvey peeked over his shoulder. “God forbid I have to hear another speech about crushing the Stompers tonight. Don’t know if he’s been trying to quote Varsity Blues all day, but...” 

“He’s doing it.” 

[emersonlogan]

who: sonny & [OPEN] ! what: reworking his game plan after spending all of orientation doing guerrilla marketing for margot rowe’s living bard’s society presidential campaign instead of formally reuniting with his friends and/or working on the relationships he’s supposed to be forging if he wants to do what he came to cherry to do ! where: the ccu cafeteria !

Sonny worked on the docks for a few years, back in San Francisco. 

The other workers used to tease a group of old sailors-turned-fishermen, who were always driveling on about their neurotic superstitions. The fishermen wouldn’t set sail against a red sunrise, because that meant a storm is coming. They all had gold hoops piercing their ears, not because they were hip, but because it was supposedly good luck to have some gold in you. They said redheads weren’t allowed on their ships, because they were usually soulless Pagans. Women were dangerous to have on board, because they’d distract the crew; but statues of women on the outside of the ship were good luck, because nothing calmed the sea gods like the sight of a topless lady on the bow. Whistling was bad luck, because it took a fool’s hubris to challenge the wind. You couldn’t set sail on a Friday, because that was the day of the week that Jesus died, nor the first Monday in April, which is the day that Cain killed his brother Abel, nor the second Monday in August, which is the day that Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed, nor December 31, which is the day that Judas Iscariot committed suicide. Tattoos were lucky, and the fact that they looked badass was just an incidental bonus. Albatrosses were unlucky, because of some arbitrary poem a guy wrote in the 1700′s. And, god, bananas? Total shit-sucking catastrophes, the devil’s final yellow omens; keep them as far away from the ship as possible, and don’t you dare ask why; the simple act of mentioning them could compromise the whole voyage. 

It made sense, though, the more Sonny thought about it while watching the freaky geezers pour wine all over their decks for good luck. He figured that the sea was such a powerful, scary, deadly, unpredictable frontier, with no one around to save them if something went wrong on the ship. They were completely at the mercy of something greater than themselves. Of course they would do anything to keep themselves from getting psyched out. They were challenging something too mighty to wrap their heads around, venturing into an infinite expanse filled with unspeakable evil.

Sitting down at an empty table in the CCU cafeteria, he rubs one of his ear lobes between his thumb and pointer finger and wonders if Clarissa Teller would know anybody who could give him a little gold hoop piercing.

Sonny drops his stuff on the seat beside him and glances down at the last few flyers he had to terrorize the campus with — ♡ Vote Margot! ♡  

When the eyes of this woman he’s never met before today stare back at him, he has to ask himself how he jumped headfirst into this mission without stopping to ask if Ted Lewis was running for the same spot. Remember Ted, Sonny? That’s the guy who you’re actually supposed to be building a relationship with. He never even stopped to consider it, not consciously. Just committed himself to a chipper stranger he had no baggage or tension with. It was always in his nature to throw his heart and soul into random ventures completely on a whim, but he knew he wasn’t doing this in the name of impulsive philanthropy. It would be nice to see a sweetie like Margot win— he’s never found an underdog he wouldn’t root for— but he knew he was doing this to procrastinate the real mission that brought him back to Cherry. 

In the most charitable explanation, he was doing this to get his mojo up to snuff before he got down to business with his old friends. He couldn’t function like a good little detective with the way his heart sunk like an anchor every time he saw a familiar dimple of someone he left in the dust, or heard about any more ways the gangs’ lives changed for the worse since he betrayed and abandoned them. He’s hiding ulterior motives from them all over again, he’s still lying to them about what he did to the Freeses, and some of them — including sweet, hopeless Mac, of all people — he’s completely using, building up their trust with the endgame of taking advantage of them the same way he did Scott. It’s hard to keep his head in the game when he’s so busy feeling like a nasty little devil. He has to psyche himself up and get to work before the incomprehensible evil that lurks in Cherry decides to reveal something he doesn’t need people to know. He needs to ease his conscience, feel like he’s boosted his karma, and remind himself of who he is despite his dirty, dirty deeds. 

He can’t just focus on karma or luck, though. He only has a chance to save Libby for as long as he’s safe and trusted around town, and he can’t waste time on random crusades for outside parties. He’s at the mercy of some treacherous greater power that could expose him at any second, and he needs to move faster than the tides. Spiritually, he did some good work today, but he needs to do something that matters in a tangible way. Compromising with himself, he decides to do something that will get his investigation moving even if he isn’t ready to talk to the gang yet: he should do some work for Ted’s campaign now.

He folds up the last few Margot Rowe flyers and moves to shove them into his bag, but his boney elbow accidentally knocks over a salt shaker in the process. Before he even registers it, his hands are raking up the spilled salt and tossing it over his shoulder without taking a split second to see if anybody was behind him. He goes back to sticking the flyers in his bag and pulls out a spiral notebook and ballpoint pen, blissfully unaware that he just threw a handful of teeny-tiny white rocks into some poor schmuck’s face. He bites the cap off of the pen and starts drafting his first groundbreaking slogan idea: TED 4 BIG BARD.

[elainefm]

who: open  what: pie time where: the pie stand

Elaine hated the pie stand. She hated being covered in flour, she hated the sticky residue it left under her fingernails, and she hated putting on a fake little smile to greet customers. And of course, her parents had decided the stand was the perfect little project to assign her! It was like they had a sixth sense for when she was miserable and without fail always decided to press on the bruise. Now, she wasn’t exactly slinging pies. No, the Archers would rather die than have their little girl up to her elbows in stewed cherries, but she was to oversee all of the operations. The message was loud and clear- if the pie stand failed, Elaine had failed. 

And still, that wasn’t enough to get her to be nice to customers or employees alike, especially when they were being mind-numbingly stupid. “No, you cannot return an empty pie tin for a refund,” she scoffs, shooing the customer away and turning towards the closest person, “Is CCU just letting anyone in these days?” 

[shakingpompoms]

𝐖𝐇𝐎: Margot Rowe & OPEN

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓: Miss Margot has places to be and elections to win!

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄: CCU Quad

Okay, you got her! Margaret Grace Rowe was a certified theater kid. It wasn’t a secret, by any means. After all, theatrics were so much cooler than they were in high school and she had practically been primmed to be the next leading lady of the drama club after that poor Blaire girl’s murder. When one blonde leaves, another takes her place! Or... something like that! Becoming president of the Living Bards Society was just her first step in segmenting herself as a force to be reckoned with at Cherry Coastal.

It was almost primal, Margot’s desire to be a winner. To be a part of a winning team, the best of the best, the cream of the crop. While her number one love would always be for cheer, drama came at a close second. And while she didn’t have the balls to go against the likes of Elaine Archer or Zahra Jackson, she did have the balls (and triple threat talent!) to go against the dweebs of the Living Bards Society. 

She spent the entire night before making posters, practically begging her parents to let her use the color in the printer. By the next afternoon, Margot had about forty little flyers adorned with her face with red and pink doodles telling you to vote for her. She stood on her tip toes, attempting to hang one of her flyers on a pole, but it seemed like plenty of others had the same idea as her, and there was only room in places she couldn’t reach. Margot turned her head, looking over her shoulder at someone who was a mere few feet behind her.

“When you’re done staring, do you think you could help me out?”

[emirerdogan]

who: open what: learn how to type with mavis beacon, ft. emir erdogan! where: ccu library ig?

Emir had never been against the concept of a higher education. He had dedicated many hours of his life to trying to receive some... equivalent form -- but university had always seemed out of the question. It was not for lack of funds ( a resourceful man, his Father was ), rather for toxic dedication and swollen pride. Thus, perhaps the one good thing to come of it all was the chance to learn at the hands of official scholars. The chance to dissect it with a jury of his peers, to write critical pieces... so on and so forth. But first... ‘Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing’ on the library computer. After the tenth failure on one specific word, Emir slipped from thought to impassioned murmur! Fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, he addressed Mavis Beacon: “I do not play xylophone, I do not listen to the xylophone -- I do not see myself ever needing to type ‘xylophone.’”

[caseyfm]

𝗢𝗣𝗘𝗡 𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗘𝗥!​​ 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧: i haven’t written a damn thing in about a week and a half so do i know what this is? no. am i also on day 2 of a hangover so feel like this may be rough? yes. is it written with love regardless? yes. yes it is.  𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘: the pit stand 

There’s been a scowl on his face ever since he received class schedule. Meditation... really? What would that do? Help him breathe through his problems? Come to some kind of acceptance that life may indeed be shit but at least he’s got tranquility and positive thoughts to get him through? There’s no amount of breathing that would help with the existential dread he’s been feeling over the past few weeks. But he’s not about to go kick up a fuss about it. That’d just be embarrassing. So, instead, he’s leaning into the old tried and tested - looking like he’d rather be anywhere else than standing behind The Pit’s stand while stealing occasional glances at the piece of paper that’s sat on the edge of the table just waiting for liquid to be poured on it. Wouldn’t that be wonderful. 

“Sorry, i was busy counting down to one and thinking of fluffy kittens and rainbows,” he deadpans as he finally breaks from his reverie for long enough to realise that shockingly(!) some people want to be served at a bar. “Can I get you the non-alcoholic beverage of your dreams? And by that I mean we have a very limited menu so choose wisely.” 

[jamiecromwell]

who: jamie and literally anyone who will talk to him​ what: he was in his dorm room and started feeling existential so now he’s looking for a distraction and saying, like, anything to find it  where: out and about in the quad

It’s not like Jamie had very many belongings to move in from his Van, but somehow trudging them up toward his dorm room - paid for fully with students loans that would surely come back to bite him in the ass -  still felt like sort of a big deal. His first place that was all his own! (Even if it technically was split down the middle with Ted Lewis... and CCU property, but whatever!) It was good enough for Jamie as he shoved his backpack full of clothes into a drawer, and set his guitar in the corner - it was good enough for Jamie as he sat on his bed and bounced just a little. Huh. When was the last time he had slept on an actual mattress and not just the mat that was laid out in his van? 

When was it all going to fall apart, like it always did? 

The thought was a whirlwind. It was a trigger, and it’s fire left him spinning out toward the buzz of the quad and the flurry of people. He needed to find a familiar face - he needed to find a moment of peace. He just needed something. 

“You ever think about how lucky we are to live at the same time as CCU cheerleaders?” Jamie said out loud to no one in particular as he waved a group of girls - out of Uniform, but wholly recognizable! Who wouldn’t know a Fighting Cherry by sight in this little town? - past. “I’d never lay down and invite God to let me suffer, but for one of them...?” 

He smirked. “I’d suffer.” 

At least it’d probably get a reaction out of someone - he was craving it. 

[noahrussell]

who: Open Starter What: The morning after  Where: the front steps of the lake house 

The throbbing in his leg had started early. It’d been the first thing he noticed when he woke up, followed by the long scratch on his arm that he’d somehow achieved the night before. A night which try as he might was almost entirely lost on him. He swore he hadn’t had that much to drink, just whatever had been in the cup before he’d tossed it. Which came down to meaning one of two things. Option one he was much more of a lightweight than he thought which didn’t make sense considering the tolerance he’d built in working at The Pit. Or option two? He’d been drugged. Which didn’t seem totally outside the realm of possibility considering how pissed everyone had been just before the night had gone black. But still, pissed enough to drug someone? Felt pretty fucked up. And to make matters worse in his black out he hadn’t had time to discuss with anyone what he’d found in Cristiano’s bag. Something he found equally as incriminating as anything else that’d been spilled that night. He had made a point to avoid the majority of the gang for most of the morning as everyone packed their things. His own already complete as he watched them move about the house, hoping more than anything that the theme of ignoring him would continue until one of them stopped beside him on the stairs. “Need help carrying anything out to the car?” It felt like the safest assumption as he looked up at them with dead eyes.   

[cristianova]

who: anybody

where: The Pit

what: Cristiano totally didn’t spit in your food I promise. 

Things were a little bit tense at The Pit ever since the gang got back from the Lakehouse. At least...for Cristiano they were. He couldn’t really muster up the banter he was known for. He felt guilty around Casey and weary around Noah. How could one night completely change the way he interacted with two of his closest friends. Either way, Cristiano had tables to serve. It was beyond him how many people winded up at The Pit for lunch or dinner...they’d only been making food for a few months. 

On top of the stress of Candy Girl planting seeds of doubt within his friend group...he hadn’t been sleeping too well. Likely the results of whatever got into his system that weekend. You could read it all over Cristiano’s face. Exhaustion.  But when he stepped out of the kitchen with platter in hand and was met with a familiar face, he couldn’t help but warm up a little. He placed the food down and slid in the seat across from them. “Fact #1: eating alone at a bar is super depressing. Fact #2: you just gave me the perfect excuse to take my lunch break.” He explained, letting out a deep breath. He eyed their plate. “I’ll look the other way on your tip if you share some grub.”