#h.threads

[containatrocity]

THE CHARON: HOLDER "DOC" TEICHMAN

It's been quiet in my mind, now I'm paranoid. It's just a matter of time before it's making noise.

"I guess you can just call me Doc, but I'm Holder Teichman. I'm 36 years old, and a Boston native which means I'm just visiting Huntsville. I've been a coroner for the past several years, as I find it far easier to work with the dead than the living, these days. Back in my prime, though, I was a surgical prodigy- capable enough that I found myself in the clutches of Boston's notorious Mystic River Killer- and forced to circumvent their death... an act that lead to several more, given that I'm the only surviving victim. I've been in Huntsville for almost a year and have settled as best I can into the position that feels most at home for me. Despite my previously illustrious life, at present, I am a guilt-ridden, repentant, traumatized shell of my former self.- A handful of traits that I fear my best efforts and unwavering loyalty and altruism cannot counter."

Name: Holder Albert Teichman

Aliases: Doc, Dr. Teichman, Holder

Age: 36

Sexuality/Gender: Homosexual Trans Man He/Him

Personality: A deeply nervous man, Holder's speech patterns are laden with stutters and uncertainty, and he finds it difficult in the present day to trust anyone, much less a town full of relative strangers. Endlessly loyal when he eventually allows himself to trust someone, it's guilt that guides his actions and efforts- a constant belief that his stringent clinging to his Hippocratic oath in the moment that he had to decide whether or not to let the Mystic River Killer die caused the death of three more people- and left him the sole survivor of their bloody rampage. Driven to help others to the point of self-harm, he'd set himself ablaze to keep someone else warm for even a moment longer, kindness often taken full advantage of by those without his best interest at heart, sensationalized and exploited for a time after his brush with death- it was really only his arrival in Huntsville that allowed him to take a breath and stop answering to the constant interviews from news media, television, and the dreaded true crime podcaster.

Occupation: While a Coroner in Huntsville, Holder's former work was that of a surgeon- though his shakes and injured right hand have left him unable to trust himself to work on anyone who isn't already dead.

Affiliations: Huntsville Police Department, the Town of Huntsville

Scent Profile: Faint cologne and aftershave he's about to run out of, the constant clinging scent of blood and antiseptic, as clean as one can be in the aftermath of what's happened to Huntsville. There's the faintest smell of wood polish, paints and oils- though this is clearly tied to his hobby over his work.

Aesthetic: Tight leather gloves hiding the reminder of your most crushing shame, blood and sweat clinging to pale skin- the shadow of doubt looming over your shoulder. You are no killer, so now their blood is on your destroyed hands. A pendulum, a pivot- the world changes, so you do. Now the ferryman, pennies on the eyes, a fee for the afterlife- their journey overseen by careful, still-shaking hands and a desperation to right the wrongs you've inflicted. your phone still rings off the hook, they didn't tell you when your morals and virtues die in the split second you make that kind of decision that the vultures come despite the body still breathing. You are a story. You are trauma porn. You are clicks and interactions and you cannot take it anymore.

This place is a godsend. You feel just as guilty for that feeling as you do everything else.

It's like an hourglass I can't turn over And when it's out, it comes down like a mortar.

CHAPTER ONE: LIFE IN HUNTSVILLE POST ARRIVAL

Now serving as one of Huntsville's Coroners, Doc is, strangely, doing better than he ever was on the outside. The constant media circus unwilling to let his trauma die with the other victims of the Mystic River Killer now on the other side of a barrier that silences all emails, phone calls, and interruptions, he's comfortable in the quiet that's come from being allowed to focus on his work, even if the bodies he's handed are particularly brutal. There's a comfort in the commonality of cause of death- 'ghost related slaughtering' is an easy enough marker to make on paperwork, with the rare deviation to include natural disaster, gunshots, and falls from great heights. There is a comfort in death- a comfort Doc has not been offered- but not for lack of trying.

Even now struggling to trust the people around him- and to cope with the reality of his continued survival in the face of crushing odds when others haven't been so 'lucky'- Doc's tenuous friendships with his coworkers- and those who have attempted to get past the walls he's hastily cobbled together to assure him there's no reason to be alone in a place where more people than anywhere else understand the ache of losing someone to savagery. But their efforts are slow-moving, as Holder's trauma lingers, crawling and creeping through his mind like tentacles to constrict ever tighter- ironic, he reasons, given the current state of things in the place he's found himself. His is an existence of slight hermithood- loyal to those who have taken the time to offer kindness and care- but not trusting, never trusting.

The willingness to turn one's back on someone was the simplest path toward being stabbed in it, after all.

[containatrocity]

"Bongo, we're not running interference today. You and I aren't ripping anybody off, that's Mercy's bag now. You and I? We're smart, capable businesspeople... well yeah, I do have my boobs out but listen- that's just smart businesspersoning." It seems Hex didn't even notice they were staring, stood behind the bar of her own booth and gazing straight ahead as she converses with the little dog sat by her feet- Bongo sneezing and shaking off, the cardboard wings attached to his harness clearly a last-minute costume decision for the dog. She blinks slightly, when Artemis offers her a drink, waving a hand slightly. "Oh- Oh sorry! You don't have to give me anything for free. I've had Andy's stuff before! Here- I'll trade you instead." They flash a megawatt smile, pulling the moth mask over their eyes up slightly and crouching to pick up a bottle from one of their coolers. "I'm always excited to sample somebody else's bee's hard work when the opportunity comes up." They offer their own bottle, then tip their head slightly. "You're Artemis, right? I believe you're familiar with my brother in law." She pauses, laughs. "'familiar' yeah, that's... a word for what Mercy gets up to, I guess." She shakes her head. "I'm Hex. I don't think we've bumped into each other before- I don't tend to go to the Antique shop."

closed starter for: @containatrocity (hex)

she felt like someone was staring at her, like a hole was about to be burnt into her skin if she didn't acknowledge the pair of eyes that were watching. but artemis felt a little too scared to look up, choosing instead to focus on the mead table that she had helped andy set up, using it as a distraction for the time being. but it didn't take long before her skin felt hot, prompted her gaze to lift just in time to see hex. maybe they hadn't been staring at her, but artemis still managed to flash them a nervous smile. "would you like some? i promise it's good; or rather, i tried it earlier and didn't immediately pass out. has to count for something, right?"

[containatrocity]

It's easy enough to tell when Doc's the only one working in the morgue, the sound of early 2000s club pop punk only ever loud enough to drift upstairs when he's the sole doctor settled into the basement office- regularly offering to work the overnights for cataloguing Felicity and Zeke might not want to do. He's certainly been here since last night, because a small handful of things are evident upon stepping into the small space that serves time and again as Huntsville's citizens' last stop before the graveyard on the edge of town: Doc's made a bed behind the main desk, and as he sings along to the radio, his mismatched slipper-clad feet are kicked up on the desk, the right bearing a rabbit missing an eye, and the left very clearly a monster foot.

"You're a hot m-mess I'm lovin' it h-hell yes- Christ Almighty!-" Sam's appearance, without a knock and with the music deafening his ability to catch anyone coming down the stairs, sends Doc spilling from the office chair and into the floor, the coroner upended for a moment before he springs to his feet, straightening his blazer over his shirt with a wheeze before lobbing a stapler at the radio across the room, knocking into it just violently enough to make it stop playing. "Ah h-hello Sam! I didn't hear you come in! S-Scared the life out of me." He quickly slams the top of his laptop shut and kicks his makeshift bed underneath the desk.

"H-How can I h-h-h-help you, M-Mr. Ahn?"

@travelingreportersam

[containatrocity]

"G-G-Good morning, Dr. Dagon!" Doc seems in relatively high spirits, a cup of coffee clutched in each leather-gloved hand as he shuffles into the Morgue, the younger doctor's usual tan trench coat quickly hung beside the door and one cup handed over to Felicity before he pauses to take a sip of his own. "J-just us t-today I take it? D-Didn't see Dr. H-Hunt on my way in, s-so I only g-grabbed two cups of coffee." He scrunches his nose a little at his own cup- it's never particularly good coffee here in Huntsville, but people under the threat of an eldrich horror can't be choosy, Doc reasons.

"I m-m-managed to catalogue the f-few n-new arrivals w-we had last night before I went home, n-nothing out of the n-norm, just some a-ah, old a-age decedents from the n-nursing home, th-they're in drawers six and f-f-four." He skirts around Felicity carefully, moving to the file cabinet behind the desk. "I d-don't think we have a-autopsy requests for them, b-but preliminaries are d-done. N-No ah, 'potential c-cult activity' or 't-tentacle-related injuries' to speak of. A p-pair of phrases I d-don't think I'll e-ever get used to- d-do you get used to th-that?"

@ofescapisms

[containatrocity]

"I'm g-g-g-going to head h-home for the d-day- wh-when Felicity c-comes in, I've left my notes on the d-desk in the morgue office- b-but we've only g-got a couple o-overnight stays until the f-funeral home g-gets in touch." Doc is already prepping to head home, leaned in the doorway of the police station as he pats himself down for keys to his house and his wallet- cellphone held aside as he checks the time. "I-If anybody n-needs anything I'll k-keep the walkie on, but I'm o-off the n-next f-few days. T-take care of yourselves e-everyone!" There's a few 'night Doc's!' that follow him out the door and onto the sidewalk-

Just in time for somebody rushing by to nearly take out the coroner, staggering the doctor and sending his phone sailing across the parking lot. He winces at the sound of impact. "Oh. that sounded expensive. a-and p-probably unrepairable." He frowns, turning to the person who'd plowed into him. "A-a-are you okay? R-running from something? Someone? Sh-should we both be running?"

[whencicatrized]

Little wrinkles form at the corners of Fenris' eyes when he smiles. They hadn't been there before, and something about the sight of them makes his heart full to bursting. The urge to learn poetry so he can spout it off at moments like this grows once more - and yet something stops him. Some odd sort of embarrassment, the kind he can't control, would be too much to bear. Instead he resorts to his tired and true method: asinine comments to cover up his emotions. "Perhaps I am just a few nugs in a trench coat. You must immediately undress me in order to check!" Thankfully, they are both similar in this regard and Hawke is able to laugh at his lover's actions, rather than give in to the swirling dips and dives his heart is trying to take. "There is no such thing as enough indulgence." With that, he darts in closer to steal one, two, three more little kisses peppered across marked skin. "But very well! If you'll withhold more as a reward than I shall get to work!" And with that, as the latest village they stopped by truly did need more herbs, he got to work scouting the hilltop for the leafy stalks.

Seated on chunks of slate, there's nowhere else to retreat save tumbling down the entire mountain face. Fenris leans back if only go goad him closer. Then, the slip of a breath, ever endeared if not pleasantly surprised by the grace of a tender touch against his face. It's a familiar sensation, this gentleness; somehow always reminiscent of the first time; painful and sacred and priceless beyond words. "Yours is a simple mind even a blind nug could navigate," he replies, mirth curving sweet at the corner of his eyes. Sword-callused, his palm rests over Hawke's hand, over the scarred ridges of his knuckles — and it's with a slight turn of the head he presses a kiss to the lifeline that's been scarred from so many years of fighting. A wordless indication of sentiment returned twice-fold: you have been dearly missed, too. "One. Is that enough?" Never ever, ever! He hears the breeze laugh in scattered echoes. "You've been indulged enough on our way up here." Contradicting the gravelly statement, there's a small satchel of goods in his pack: wine and imported cheese.

[containatrocity]

Hex doesn't go out to the forest too often- they're a little high-profile, normally, bright blue hair and over the top clothing- something that, while good for denoting their presence to hunters, wasn't exactly beneficial otherwise. But boredom, uncertainty, and a screaming match with their husband bred wanderlust, and it also meant they didn't have it in them to get dolled up, scraped knees, bruised arms, and buzzed-short dark brown hair the affair of the day as she poked around at the bases of trees. "Come on then, I've got to find something today to make this worthwhile-" They sigh, shaking their head slightly. "You don't even have to be magical, I'll take poisonous at this point, mushrooms- Ark doesn't know the difference." For a moment she giggles at the thought of him making his usual tea and keeling over dead- and then she realizes she's not alone, and that the fruit she'd picked up in the meantime was rotten. "Blegh- oh! God, I didn't think anybody else was coming out this far. I'm just mushroom hunting." They inform. "Looks like most of the areas close to town have been uh. Picked clean."

@ambercast

[containatrocity]

THE HARLEQUIN: HEX HALCYON SIF-SIDON

The torturous rage that's performed on this stage, As I gaze at myself playing this role, It makes me feel whole- When I'm in full control I'm no longer a doll that you own ! ! !

"I'm Hex Halcyon Sif-Sidon- You'd do well not to forget the whole thing, 'cause I'm gonna be a big deal, someday, got it? But I guess you can just call me Hex, Most folk do. I'm 24 years old and I'm a bona-fide circus freak- but I guess, these days, with my tourin' opportunities on hold- I'm fillin' slots as a Police Dispatcher. I arrived in town in with my traveling troupe Seven years ago, and I still live with the surviving members in an abandoned house on the edge of town. I'm not sure how I feel about the Commune, because far be it from the clown to judge anybody else- My greatest vice is my inability to mind my own business, and the fact I'm a hellish gossip."

Name: Hex Halcyon Sif-Sidon

Aliases: Hex, Sif, Baby, B Гиена (v Giyena) [The Hyena], Bubbles the Clown

Age: 24 (October 11th)

Sexuality/Gender: Pansexual Genderfluid (She/They)

Personality: A horrendous busybody, Hex is the most extroverted member of the Menagerie post their being trapped within Huntsville, constantly getting themselves involved in the lives and business of others, often uninvited. Peppy and vibrant, they can often come off as 'too much' for the unprepared, and has been since her arrival nearly eight years ago. They don't seem troubled by their new lot in life beyond a lingering sense of wanderlust, and her tendency to make new friends quickly has done her well, despite the fact her reputation as a nosy gossip is well-known.

Occupation: Former Circus Act, Presently working at the local police station as a dispatcher.

Affiliations: The Marvelous Menagerie Traveling Circus, The Huntsville Police, Arkadeon Sidon- their husband, and the Menagerie's present ringmaster, 39 years old.

Scent Profile: Sweet, like sugar and fresh cotton sheets, Like lanolin for violin bows and honey candies made by hand in the kitchen- like sweet flowers for bees they rear and the harsh copper of blood.

Aesthetic: Canvas strips from tents torn into bandages, rubbing alcohol biting into split knuckles and ignored bloodied lips. A painted on grin in white and blue paint hiding a frown beneath, everybody loves a clown- and you've been a fool for some time. Bees sting but once and then they die but they follow the will of a Queen. It is femininity made dagger sharp and deadly- Fear my sting, fear my sting, please do not hurt me.

You've ruined me and everything that used to seem Pleasant to me Is now a broken mockery- Nostalgic lost reality. But now it seems within these dreams the power all belongs to me!

CHAPTER ONE: LIFE IN HUNTSVILLE POST ARRIVAL

Hex has adjusted alarmingly well, all things considered, they miss the glamour of touring and performing that they saw in their teens, but there is a comfort in routine, and her fondness for the bees she keeps, and those who live within her strange little family of circus freaks tends to keep her on the straight and narrow. While their tendency to spread rumors and gossip hasn't earned them many favors, it's also not garnered many detractors in their life, most finding her more than enjoyable to be around given their plucky personality and eagerness to participate in anything she's invited to. She's the public facing presence for the Menagerie, a bright eyed, plucky young thing who garnered her fame in the cirque with her work as a clown and a tightrope walker. She tends to wilt, in the presence of her husband, though if asked about this, she'll quickly change the subject to something else, choosing to think about anything else aside from the man who heads her circus, and the fact their numbers are far smaller than they had been, that faithful night their traveling troupe rolled through the town of Huntsville. They remain close to Mercy, another freak in their circus who headed the sideshow, largely defaulting to his judgement of others when they're together- And with notable friction between Mercy, Arkadeon, and herself, the people of the Menagerie are a frayed tightrope bound to snap someday- Hex simply hopes that they're not the one to cause the break.

[containatrocity]

"The key to being a good little clown, my friend, is comedic timing. And showing like, a very, very tasteful amount of cleavage so the dads pay attention to you too." They laugh, taking a long swallow of their coffee before sighing. "No, whatever's going on, they're keeping it under wraps, I might try to bribe the deputy into telling me, if I look sad enough I think I can swing him caving. Most of the officers are basically dads and I have a 'peppy lost child' energy most adults find difficult to resist." It's probably her unwaveringly plucky demeanor, bright and oddly comedic, even in the face of discussing a murder. "Mercy probably wouldn't care, all things considered- if he hadn't been with me the whole night when all this happened I'd probably almost suspect him. I love the guy, really, but he's a little cracked and not in the fun way." The ever-present grin fades just a touch as Roxy admits their only two suspects likely... didn't do it. "Sooo we're back at square one, huh? That bites." They sigh, sitting their coffee aside to pick up one of the many little baubles on their desk, turning the little plastic clown over in their hand. "I guess that makes sense, it's rarely the first person you'd suspect- the not-quite-a-boyfriend, the guy she had beef with- it's not TV."

They hum, scratching a fleck of paint off shiny plastic absently. "I hope they track down whoever did it, you know? I know firsthand what those monsters can do all on their own- it's not like they need help."

"I figured you'd joke about most things," Roxy joked, gesturing at the clowns lined up along the desk. "But I will keep that in mind." It would certainly add an uncomfortable energy to the office, staring at all those beady eyes. "Damn and here I was hoping you'd be able to give me the inside scoop. Though it's clear who they're investigating seeing as i get dragged in for all of it." She sighed. Roxanne wouldn't mind if Hex had some regular run of the mill office gossip. It would almost be a nice change of pace. She was glad she got the bluenette's coffee order right, but the comment about Mercy made the corner of her lip twitch. "I think you should let him know I've decided to compete for the position of favorite, I agree." She sighed and sipped her own coffee. "Honestly not much to tell. I wouldn't normally speculate but I'm pretty sure neither of them did it."

[containatrocity]

"He's not important." They declare, planting one manicured palm into her companion's face and shoving him away, gesturing to him to leave. "Shoo shoo." It's with a roll of his eyes he departs, and Hex swings her legs as she puzzles through the things she keeps in her head of even vague interest. "Had a couple calls over those Romero brothers getting into a domestic, but after half a decade that's not news that's just how those specific two work. Mmmm, the deputy's got a boyfriend- two? Maybe? Which, good for him, but I did think he was straight." She's animated as she speaks, spinning in her chair for a moment. "A few drunk and disorderlies, the vet here in town got his head cracked- the officer we sent out to deal with it was pretty sure he didn't do it on accident, but I don't think Fletcher was exactly in any state for an interview with a crack in his skull, so I am considering that one potential foul play." She rests her chin in her hand for a moment. "But then, lots of things feel a lot like foul play now, y'know?"

Lana raises one eyebrow in the direction of the one who 'doesn't matter', but shrugs without hesitation. Jackpot. "Whatever you found interesting enough to want to tell someone else." She clicks her pen back into a writing position, barely suppressing a grin. "I may not be friendly, but I am very well acquainted with weird. You might just be my new favorite person at the station," she teases. "You're right, though, I don't really give a damn about affairs, but it doesn't matter if it's something unacceptable for the paper. You can tell me and I can water it down. I'm all ears for anything, on either side of the dispatch, too. Officer versus cat stuck in a tree and the cat won ? I'd listen. "

[containatrocity]

"Ah, we're keeping on." They smile. "We miss having ya around, sometimes, but I think most of us are thankful for a little extra breathing room- finally able to spread out among the bedrooms at the old place without having to have four roommates to one broom closet." She laughs, hopping up on a nearby picnic table to sit down, the dog sat gently on the ground beside her feet, sticking obediently close as he snuffles through the grass. "Mercy and I are still rooming together, mostly because we're both too lazy to move anything to one of the other bedrooms, so we've just been passing up our place in the rotation. Ark's talking about trying to find a way out again, but of course that'll die the moment he finds out none of us are volunteering to poke around in the woods with him near dark." She rolls her eyes, picking up a nearby bottle of mead and taking a long swallow. "So yanno, he's... still Arkadeon. Which is either a comfort or a curse, depending on the day."

It was no secret that Hex wasn't exactly fond of her husband- she spent much of her free time out of the circus' housing, roaming town and befriending people at work rather than spending more time than she'd have to around her layabout of a husband. She'd been one of the first to get a job- mostly to get themselves out of the home, here and there- Had encouraged Mercy to stop laying around and take over at the Antique shop, when the position opened- had been terribly happy for Sasha, when he finally decided to strike out on his own- and supportive, when he decided that the rangers weren't for him.

"It's been a lot of talk about wanting to work on our acts again." She offers. "And I miss clowning- and doing my acrobat act- and I know Mercy misses his magic show, even if the sideshow's... a little scant, these days. But most of us are figuring that if we're gonna be stuck here, we should at least keep our skills up- I've been letting a bunch of them go stagnant myself, you know? Not a lot of use for a children's entertainer in the day to day around here. It's why I brought my violin today. Wanted to make sure I still remembered how to play." They laugh- there's no way they'd forget that- they'd been playing since they were six. "I think I'm safe there, though."

Sasha gladly took the offered mead and removed the stopper with a satisfying thoomp. He took a few long, slow sips while Hex continued talking, and didn't have time to lower the bottle before she ran off to briefly harass Mercy and retrieve the aforementioned candies.

He took the moment to take in the scene - it was nice to see everyone all together, even after everything. Well, mostly everyone. He still half-expected to see a certain face among them, engaged in lively conversation but finding time to send him a charming wink and smirk.

He blinked himself out of his reverie as Hex returned before taking a candy from the bin and popping it in his mouth. Between the mead and candy, the honey-on-honey flavor was nearly overwhelming, but not unpleasant. He nodded in response to her comments, thinking a bit more than listening. "How has everyone been doing? Since I have been..." What had he been? Tired? Distant? Avoiding-his-boss-slash-their-lousy-husband? "...not around."

[containatrocity]

"Bongo! Oh my gosh no get back here!" it's dirty tennis shoes out of place with the rest of her outfit that pound up the sidewalk after the wild black streak that marks Hex's approach- as well as a bellow of her name behind her from Arkadeon- she's bound to get into trouble for this later, but at current, her concern is the dog, the little schipperke weaving through the crowd of attendees only to vanish into the booths and tents. "How am I supposed to find you now? Bongo- He didn't mean it! He's just kinda loud sometimes- Come back, buddy!" She sighs, reaching a hand up to worry at one narrow blue braid framing the short crop of her hair. "Come on, you're like, my only friend who isn't Mercy and he sucks, here boy!"

They follow for a while, the path they hope Bongo took- one of least resistance, through displays and crowds- coming to a nervous halt when the dog disappears into a tent- with a dour looking, very tall man stood out front of it. She's struck dumb for a short moment, fear jolting through her spine as she skitters to a halt, doing her best not to smack directly into him. He looks like the game warden, if she looks a little longer, albeit broader and shorter with the same furrowed brow- and hadn't Warden Romero mentioned an older brother with... one arm?

But familiarity that might be present doesn't make her less frightened of a complete stranger, especially one this tall- she's about to apologize, really, for whatever she's done to earn a glare like that- but then he apologizes to them, instead.

"O-Oh, y-you're okay. I'm... my dog got loose." They inform, motioning toward the tent- and sighing with relief as Bongo reappears from within, sniffing the leg of Eddie's pants. "Sorry." She bends to gather him quickly, tucking him under one arm. "You're not in the way, promise. Just caught me off guard, is all, promise. No harm no foul, you and me are even as." She talks oddly, always has, really, the circus had seen to that- but she sticks her free hand out in greeting. "I'm Hex! I live with the circus. I don't think I've met you before. This is my dog, Bongo." Bongo lets out a bark in greeting, then resumes drooling from where he's held aloft. not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer.

open starter

the festival was pretty busy, and eddie was starting to feel the edge of overwhlem prickling at the corners of his brain-- asking clara if she could go get him something to drink while he stepped away from the festivities for a bit, finding himself standing next to the medical tent-- his arms crossed over his chest as he looked into the distance, appearing to be scowling-- though that was just because the sun was in his eyes. his nails were dug into his arms just a bit, his shoulders tensed as he felt his heartbeat start to pick up in his ears-- breath shuttering slightly as he exhaled, fingers starting to tremble.

hey, hey... it's okay, you're fine. c'mon, eddie, take some deep breaths and name three things you can see, then three things you can smell for me.

jake's voice was quiet in the back of his mind, a comforting whisper when he needed it. it had started to change over the years-- started to change to sound more like eddie's own internal voice. he knew that eventually he would forget what jacob sounded like completely, thankful at least that the boy's face hadn't started to fade in his mind-- at least not yet.

his eyes moved over his surroundings, taking deep breaths as he did-- ticking off things he could see, starting to list what he could smell when he saw sudden movement out of the corner of his eye and his head snapped abruptly to look towards the cause of it-- staring at the person with a expression completely devoid of emotion, probably appearing to glare at them coldly for a moment before he blinks and takes a silent breath-- stepping to the side, realizing that he was blocking the way past the tent.

"ah."

"sorry 'bout that, didn't mean t'block the way." his tone was flat, his arms slowly uncrossing from in front of his chest to raise one to the back of his neck-- scratching it absently, the other arm falling loosely to his side as he spoke.

he had always had difficulty initiating small talk, so he didn't say anything further for the time being-- but it didn't necessarily seem like he wasn't open for a chat, despite that-- his body turned towards the other person slightly, his attention visibly directed towards him as he maintained eye contact-- arguably just a bit too much, but that's just how he was-- most of the locals of huntsville were used to it, as were a lot of the visitors that'd been there for a longer timespan, at this point-- though it was still likely be a bit intimidating by the intensity behind it, regardless.

[containatrocity]

"Preferably the magic kind." They sigh, planting palms on their hips for a moment. They don't look quite themselves, far more understated than how most find Hex- bright blue hair and over the top clothes even at the police station. "Helps to spend at least a few hours pretending we're not stuck in a hellhole- even if that few hours required psychadelics, yanno?" She breathes a short sigh of relief a moment later. "I'd appreciate it. I used to be pretty good at hunting this sort of thing, when I was a teenager- but as it turns out, the flora in Russia and Europe isn't exactly the same as... West Virginia." They reason. "Hex Sif-Sidon. I don't know that we've met- I'm with the circus at the edge of town."

"You looking for mushrooms or like mushrooms?" Star asked curiously, picking her way over. "I'm out here looking for the special ones. I ran out and I didn't want to wait for the next time the commune goes foraging this far out. You want help? I know the difference between special, deadly, and regular."

[whencicatrized]

Warmth kissed his cheeks as a slight breeze ruffled his hair. Once, long ago, those were the only forms of affection he recognized - the only sort he ever expected to have. Oh, how times have changed. Here within arms reach is the greatest love he's ever known, one who manages to stay with him despite it all. "I contain multitudes! Or whatever it was Isabela used to claim." An easy smile rose to his lips, fondness screaming from the way he leaned down, the way his shoulders angled toward Fenris, how his eyes hardly left his companion. "I can gather herbs and-" Kon gave an exaggerated return of the expression, attempting to take it beyond charming and into ridiculous territory. "Can I not indulge in your beauty? We've been seperated so often lately..." His hand, rough and calloused and scarred, manages to lay gently against his lover's cheek. He had missed Fenris, and it had been far too long, but even when they did get to spend every day together he was insatiable. "Perhaps a few kisses will help me get back on task...?"

A glimmer especially bright in his gaze, Fenris tilts his head toward the sun — robust features catching the noon-rays of geniality. Perhaps with such a bright, welcoming expression he might've been once in his life appear approachable; no weight to press against his shoulders, a sprawl of limbs open an inviting. Such was never the fate of a slave turned wolf, but then again, he hadn't expected to live this long either. The mountains around them, in an area tucked between the Anderfels and the Imperium in that vague, disputed territory neither could fully claim, he watches his companion with appreciation, smiling at the strands of grey reflecting the daylight. Then, a knowing rolling of the eyes before he tosses back the watersack at @whencicatrized as he regains a steadier footing across the weather-worn paths. "Hawke. We came here to collect herbs. Not—" He quirks his brow the way Konnor often does in clear mockery of the suggestive (and dearly playful) gesture.

[containatrocity]

"Oh I would never joke about an affront to interior design like that, Rox." Hex laughs, taking her coffee with a smile. "I swear, some of these people would have the police station done up like a hunting lodge if they were left to their own devices." She adjusts in her seat, reaching across to tap the little bobblehead clown on her desk with one long nail. "The officers are in some meeting, I've been sat here listening in, but shy of sticking a cup on the wall, I'm not really getting much worthwhile." They admit, rolling brown eyes absently. There's a momentary pause, to sip her drink, and then, clearly satisfied, sit it on the corner of her desk. "It's perfect, thank you. Mercy's been my friend for over a decade and even he refuses to remember my coffee order, you know- I'm gonna tell him he's been replaced." She teases, leaning their elbows against the desk a moment later. "So, anything juicy I get to know? Did that Chiyoda fella bump off his lover? Or was it that TJ guy?" That's Hex- a gossip through and through. "Of course, there's client confidentiality, and all that but I'm dying here with nothing, you know?"

[cheeky time skip for the babies]

Roxanne stepped into the station with several coffees balanced in her arm, a bag thrown over her shoulder, and a pencil in the bun she had her hair up in. Her first stop of the day was with Hex, offering the cup to the blue-haired dispatcher. "You know, I kind of thought you were joking before, about having coworkers who'd put mounts on the wall of the station, but you were serious huh?" She laughed. "I think that coffee should be how you like it." It had taken her a few days to round up coffee orders, but with the amount of questionings she'd been present for since the murder it just sort of made sense to bring caffeine along.

[containatrocity]

"You know, I've been here since I was a teenager, and to this day, I have never really worked through the lingering horror I feel when I spend time around... some of the town's lovely citizens." She observes, chuckling softly. "I try to keep myself from judging- far be it from the clown to have any room to talk, but at the least, we could pick a winner outside, surely." They smile slightly, taking another long swallow of their drink before sticking out a hand- it's carefully manicured, even here- nails long and shiny. "Hex." She greets. "Good to know there's some people in this town with a little more sense in decor- I tell you, the police station would have mounts in it if some of my coworkers had their way."

Roxy nodded her head, accepting that the blue-haired person was really staring off into space. Not that hard to believe. Plus she perked up at the compliment. "Okay, you're not wrong." She grimaced at the deer head. "Nothing more appetizing than dead carcass on the walls. Except... perhaps that." She gestured towards a man at a table who was.... currently picking his nose. "What is wrong with people...."