harlequined | ( AN OPEN POST #2 )

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( AN OPEN POST #2 )

you know the drill. pick your poison (not entirely limited to those listed). reply with a prompt in the form of a post, photo, song, text, voicemail, whatever your heart desires & receive a response. simple, right? right.

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[ So, he's got a soft spot for the girl — you blame him? Look at her. All dolled up and no place to go but up. Sure, he had his hesitations. Who wouldn't? Girl wanted for murder wants to hop on board their train headed for just south of Splitsville, that right there is heat two Geckos don't need on their tail.

She made her choice and, in return, the brothers made theirs. Richie spilled his reservations, but at the end of the day, her skills were better utilized as an asset. They were a double act, a duo. If she wanted to make this shindig a trio, she had to earn it. You didn't get to where they are today by toeing outside the lines. It's a fast, hard road and to ride it meant going in for the long haul.

Abigail left. After months on the road, leading the life they led, she took her things and skedaddled. What were they supposed to think when she showed up at their dinky motel in California, asking for the proverbial Second Chance? This right here was going to make or break their future together. Seth didn't have time to play this hot and cold sthick. She was in or she was out. One wrong move and she's left behind. Square deal.

Now, he finds himself somewhat, uh, distracted? From the idea. This dress, the way her hair falls over her shoulders. She looks her age and he'd be about as blind as Richard not to notice. At her quick questions, Seth gives her another once-over. ]

You, little lady, don't need to change a goddamn thing.

[ He reaches behind her, pressing her tag between her shoulder blades down behind the material of her dress. ]

Although, I gotta ask — you find yourself a neat little place to tuck your piece in one of these newly discovered curves of yours? Now, you and me, tonight, we aren't in the business of looking for trouble. But if it finds us, I need you to be up and at 'em, Adam Ant, you got me?

( She swore she would never go driving in the middle of the night ever again. No, Lydia Martin learned her lesson many dead bodies ago, and she soon figured it would be best for her to just stay inside after the sun goes down, unless she's accompanied by someone else. She never seems to find corpses when she's with someone else.

Unfortunately, like many teenage girls, her resolve isn't so strong when it comes to things like this. The body of a girl is a strange thing, and it comes with random cravings that need to be given in to, else they only get worse and worse until you're left eating a half pint of Häagen-Dazs straight from the carton with a spoon.

Deciding that, for the sake of her thighs, she'd nip tonight's craving for something sweet in the butt before it becomes catastrophic, Lydia nabs her keys off her nightstand and heads out to her car.

It'll come as no surprise to anybody that knows her that the place she ends up is definitely not the supermarket down the road, but rather a small drugstore on the edge of town. Trees are thick behind it, and she's almost positive that nobody is behind the counter in the store, so why she goes in regardless is entirely beyond her.

The smell of blood is enough to have her gagging and spinning on her heel to run back out before she even sees the body, and is immediately stunned into stillness by a scream. A man; he sounds close. And what does she do? She runs towards it, of course, because the banshee can't ignore screaming.

After all, Lydia knows what happens when she's ignored. )

[ It all happened so fast.

Find a man who enjoys being caught unawares and Seth Gecko'll make a goddamn liar out of 'em. It was supposed to be a quick stop. You take a leak, you grab a few lukewarm burgers for the road, you're out in no more than five. Simple stuff, right?

Beacon Hills. The warning was on the label. Any place that sounds like it comes out of an 80s horror flick ought to be nothing other than bad news. Richie's back at the motel, said he needed a break from the road. Problem is, now is one of those instances he wishes he had his brother at his side. His brother might have seen it coming — Richard's always spotting what he can't seem to. I'm a prodigy. He's a goddamn pain in the ass is what he is, but at least this wouldn't be his problem alone now.

It was a wolf. He knew it the moment he heard it. The creature had one thing in mind and now she's laying on the floor, blood splashing from her throat like she's Freddie Krueger's latest squeeze. He dropped everything the moment the wolf made a dash for the door — what the hell kind of animal goes in and out without any collateral damage like that?

He dropped his shit, moving to her body without a second thought. One knee on the ground, Seth's hand applies pressure, but it doesn't do anything. This girl's already dead. He shouts for some kind of help; his hands are already red with blood, what'll it do?

That's when she shows up, all skirts and red hair. ]

You got a real fuckin' pest control problem in this town, you people know that?

[ The existence of life in the Moors — the existence of magic, of fantastical things — means that faith doesn't hold as much stock in the kingdom as it might, otherwise. He'd seen her perform miracles when they'd been children, after all, seen her heal branches and leaves without so much as batting an eyelash. But still, the church exists. Parables read by the rich and illustrated for the poor, explanations for those things that would defy explaining. Priests attend his coronation, ensuring that the passing of the crown from one head to another is sanctioned by God. For appearance's sake, even if Stefan himself doesn't put much stock into it all.

(She's right, in her initial estimation. There had been no faith to justify the disparity between the rich and the poor, nothing to account for the loss of his parents, nothing to vault him into a better life save his own ambitions.)

Five years pass, after Aurora's birth. Paranoia (or is it guilt) settles into his bones, colors the desperation that has always been present within him. It casts circles under his eyes, hollows his cheeks, all of it spurred less by strict concern for his child than the determination not to be bested — as well as a certain resentment. When he kneels at the altar, furs draped over his shoulders to compensate for the thinning of his frame, Aurora is but a shadow upon his thoughts. The woman who predominates them instead is the same as whose voice echoes through the otherwise empty church. ]

When has He ever been known to answers man's prayers?

[ Stefan doesn't move from the spot, doesn't raise his head. (He isn't wearing his crown.) He's afraid, almost, that she'll simply be an apparition. His steps have been haunted, as of late — that he'd imagine her presence would come as no surprise. ]

Why are you here?

Hollywood?

( The tilt of her head isn't meant to be offensive, because she knows what the Gecko brothers are capable of. If there's anyone that can get away with a hit as big as a hotel in Hollywood, of all places, it'd be them.

She pulls her hand back onto her lap and folds them both, looking away from him and to the pool, only to find herself struggling to keep from looking back. It's not awkward, though (maybe it's because they finally just went there, and that killed any potential awkwardness), and for that Abigail is grateful. The last thing she'd want is for their reunion to be filled with silences and cleared throats.

Something as big as this hotel would be a good way for her to say that she wants in — for good this time — and that she's in it for as long as they'll have her. She won't mention it but as empty as her time back at home after all the time spent with them felt, she hopes it'll be a good, long while.

Abigail finally glances back at Richie's face, and she looks amused when she does. )

How else would you provide a distraction for something as big as that?

I had a plan. [ It's as aggressive as Richie will allow it to be. The layouts, the blueprints, the goddamn schedules of every employee from the valet to the hotel manager — that? That's Richie. ]

You've been gone a few days. Maybe you've forgotten: I? always have a plan.

[ He points between the two of them, bringing his insistence home as he presses at his own stomach. The subject changes, as it should. There isn't any point in dwelling. Not on how her shoulders have lost their tension, the way her face is easy to smile again.

How else? ]

A plan, which, by the way, is now rendered almost useless. [ Richie frowns. ]

( She should've known that he was going to ask about her gun. Of course she wasn't stupid enough to forget it, but without a pair of jeans to tuck it into, or a coat to hide it in a pocket, she wasn't exactly left with ... options as to where to put it. )

I, uh, ( She stops walking and pulls the hem of her skirt up to approximately mid-thigh, where the barrel of her gun that was gifted to her by the younger Gecko brother is pointing downward, nestled safely into a holster on the inside of her left thigh. That was an interesting shopping trip.

It's comfortable, due to the fact that Abigail's petite frame still (mostly) reflects her age, and the safety's on so no accidents will happen. ) –– yeah, I got it.

( She promptly returns the hem of the skirt to its proper place and smooths it down once more.

If she'd successfully avoided blushing earlier that's gone to Hell as she is a deep, scarlet red, now. )

I can do it if it needs to happen; it'll be fine.

( While she is more comfortable with rifles than she is handguns, she's always had an eye for shooting, and she picked up on the smaller weapons pretty quickly.

She doesn't like to think about the fact that the reason it does is because of the fact that her father had her hunting innocent animals from a young age. The girls she helped ensnare were a different story, entirely. One she has yet to talk about in depth. )

Richie's been taking me to practice when we have the time and says that I've gotten a lot better.

[ They stop just before reaching the car. Not long after, she's slipping her arm out from his to bring her skirts up her thighs. He looks away, placing his hands over his brow, because he's not a goddamn pervert, alright? At the mention of her gun, he hesitantly turns his head, eying the stretch of skin up her leg, and finally the holster at her thigh. ]

Easy there, Marilyn, you're gonna have every goddamn tomcat hopping the fence for a peek at that thing, you hear me?

[ He reaches forward, smoothing her dress over her stomach. Seth Gecko's a lot of things, but he isn't indecent. He knows what to do and what not to do, understands that a woman's body is her own. But there's something in him, an overwhelming urge to keep Abigail safe. She can hold her own, sure, but that's not why she's here.

She's here, because she's part of this. She's a part of them. ]

Let's get outta here 'fore you try and show me where you're keeping the knife.

( At his words, smile pulls at her lips, but it's been a long time since any kind of happiness has looked genuine on Maleficent. It pleases her to know that her presence causes him grief in the same way that he does her.

She very well could be honest with him and say that she's got no true reason to be here; that even after all these years she still yearns to look upon him, even after she's lost him. The pain reminds her that she hasn't quire lost herself entirely, and that she's still able to feel overwhelming emotion.

The numbness that's taken over the large percentage of her life grows tiresome, and even the twinge that leaves an ache of lost love feels better than nothing, on occasion. )

He seems to have answered yours, King Stefan.

( The words are laced with cruelty, as after all these years, she's still not forgiven him for his betrayal. She often thinks back to when they were bright-eyed children, running around the Moors. He always insisted that he would wind up in the castle, and how right he was. If only she could've warned herself, somehow; not been so gullible and trusting of the young boy.

Her footsteps echo in the empty chapel, closing in on the kneeling man. How wonderful it feels to know that she has the upper-hand, even while she's half the fairy she once was. )

Are you not pleased with my visit? How very upsetting.

( God, she is beyond tired of being the person to find dead bodies.

The lump in her throat feels like it's the size of a golfball, and she can't avoid stepping in blood, so she treads carefully, not entirely eager to slip. This night's already taken a turn for the worst, the last thing she needs is to wind up covered in the stuff, too. (Does anyone know how hard it is to get blood out of anything, let alone a light-colored silk skirt?)

She feels guilty for thinking it, but at least she doesn't know the girl that's laying in a pool of her own blood. Too many times has the victim been someone she knows; someone she was close to. It's not a victory in the slightest, but Lydia will take what she can get in Beacon Hills.

She should really text Stiles, as they have that tentative agreement about her contacting him first, but instead her phone stays tucked into a pocket of her purse. Her eyes well up as she gets closer. The smart thing to do in a situation like this would be to lie and not turn it into a bigger deal than it already is, but she finds that she can't do that. )

Did you see what happened?

( She chooses to take a more careful, controlled route. Maybe he didn't even see what happened; maybe there's a chance that he walked in on the scene just like she did, and she wouldn't have to lie about it. They live by the woods, it's completely logical that a bear could've made its way down from the mountains because it smelled food or something.

She knows this is the job of a werewolf, though, and she hopes that he doesn't know, because that's a problem the kids of Beacon Hills like to avoid. The more people actually know, the harder it is to keep things under the radar. )

( After the events of the last motel the supernatural gang of Beacon Hills stayed at, it'll come as a shock that they are, once again, at a motel. Granted, this one isn't known for its suicide numbers, so that's already refreshing.

They needed to get away after Allison's passing. Being in town felt too much like living in a city-sized graveyard, the ghosts of their friends following them wherever they went, so Lydia suggested that they get out of there for a while. Scott and Stiles were keen on the idea, and the next day they had packed their bags for a long weekend getaway.

The mountains felt like a bad choice — whatever lurked in the trees is something that none of them felt up for, so instead, they went south. And then east. Where they wound up was a small town on the border of California and Mexico (while still in the United States, of course, as none of them felt like going over the border), where it was hot, but not too dry, and if they wanted to go to a beach, it was only an hour's drive.

To make a long story short, they wound up finding a motel that was within their price range for Lydia to have her own bedroom, as there's no way in Hell she was rooming with both Scott and Stiles. Boys are heathens and she would rather chew her own leg off before sleeping in the same room as them.

She's lugged her bag up the stairs to the room she was assigned and locks the door behind her as she steps inside, bag set on a chair by the door. All but throwing herself on the bed, she rolls over to open the bedside dresser's drawer, hoping to find a remote to attempt to find something to watch while the boys are out grabbing food for the three of them. Instead, she finds a wallet and a handgun sitting next to the token bible; her immediate reaction is to slam the drawer shut again, eyes wide.

And in a moment that leaves her heart in the pit of her stomach, somebody then steps out of the bathroom. Lydia stands abruptly, stumbling over her feet back towards the door. )

... I think they gave me the wrong room key.

[ King. The title rings hollow in his ears. He had loved her — still loves her, in his way — but it's an emotion buried under the shallower, more selfish capabilities of mankind; the conviction that she is in the wrong for having cursed his child, having humiliated him in front of his whole court, despite the fact that he had been the one to take her wings to begin with. She had trusted him, when the castle had been but a distant dream, and he had not imagined that she would factor in as part of the cost.

It is only when she stops that he moves, his hands, clasped in front of him, slowly falling until they reach his sides again. Rings adorn almost every finger, jewels set in gold — refinements of the sorts of things he'd tried to steal from the Moors, when they'd first met. A far cry from the rags he had worn as a young boy, reckless enough to cross into the enchanted forest for the promise of a precious stone. He doesn't stumble as he stands, the robes that had pooled about his feet straightening with his height, careful embroidery falling in and out of shadow. ]

The last time you came, you brought a curse with you.

[ Her voice is cruel and his is accusing. He cannot imagine a scenario in which she would not further extract her revenge — to kill him or to take something else from him (though, arguably, there is nothing left save his own hide; the queen wastes away and the king is absent from her bedside, and Aurora remains more a contest than a true daughter). Wouldn't he do the same to her, were he capable of it? He meets her eyes, and his expression, though it carries the same venom, falters for a single moment. ]

Did you expect me to be cordial?

( A common misconception about vampirism is that it's something that is immediately taken to.

The feeding is something you acquire immediately, the darkness is something that you adjust to, but the one thing that Santanico has never quite gotten over since she lost her mortal life is the fact that she can no longer spend even a moment in the sunlight. Artificial light is a poor substitute, and even though she knows what happens if she steps into sunlight, she still yearns for it.

She's not a prisoner of that temple parading as an exotic bar any longer, and for that, she's eternally grateful.

It's unspoken, how highly she thinks of Richie — not only for what he did for her, but for the person he is, himself — but if someone were to catch her looking at him when he's not paying attention, it'd be obvious. Like a shot to the heart. There is a reason she chose him to be the one to set her free.

She only hopes that he won't begin to resent her for what she's done to him, essentially taking his life in the light away from him and leaving him in the darkness. )

Where would you like to go?

( Rays of sunlight leak through shutters of the suite they've acquired, having grown tired of driving. (They'll need to feed, soon, especially the younger vampire, but for now they rest.) She's careful to avoid it as she takes a step closer to Richie, reaching up to rest the palm of her hand on his cheek, thumb softly stroking skin that will never again be kissed by the sun.

They possess the ability to go anywhere on the Earth — Santanico thinks it fair to give the decision to him, given everything she's put him through. )

( Abigail didn't forget — how could she? All she thought about while she was gone was her time spent with the brothers and how she was being pulled back the moment she set foot on that train.

She crosses her arms over her chest and leans back in the chair that, moments ago, she'd been so eager to get out of. A normal reaction, when cornered. )

How selfish of me, going and ruining your plans. What was I thinking? ( She sighs, and it's overdramatic in a blatantly obvious way. Just trying to shake those leftover nerves now that she's back to where she was trying to get all along.

It's a shock that Seth hasn't made an appearance, given her raised voice only minutes ago. ) I'm sure a genius like yourself won't be able to come up with another plan.

( Maleficent laughs, and it's a cold, lifeless sound.

The things she could do to him in this empty building are seemingly limitless. Give him the true punishment and pain he deserves. She makes no move to do anything but speak, though. To someone as terrified as Stefan, it's all she has to do.

His mind will do the rest. )

And the last time you came to me, you took my life with you. So we look to be at an impasse, don't we?

( She grips her staff tightly in one hand, taking a moment to run her hand down the wood of a pew, eyes slowly taking in the room. Religion is something she's never quite understood, being a fairy. the Earth supplies everything required to survive, yet there's always something better to humans, something out of reach.

They're are so trusting of their Gods, considering the higher powers in their lives have done nothing but let them down. Greedy kings and selfish queens, taking and taking but never giving anything in return. )

I expect you to accept your mistakes and live with them. ( Diaval was left behind for once to watch after Aurora, as those three pixies aren't to be trusted with even something as simple as human life.

In here, it's just the two of them. ) Instead, you tremble behind walls and search for answers that don't exist.

Hey, you asked. I was just easing your mind.

( Her cheeks still flushed pink, she doesn't look as confident as she looks. Some of it has to do with the dress she's wearing, not feeling like it belongs on her (Like some small girl wearing her mother's dresses and parading around in shoes that are four sizes too big.), but mostly it's just Seth and the effect that he has over her. He walks into the room and Abigail turns into some shy, giggly college girl.

It's embarrassing, because it's not who she is.

Without pockets or a bag to keep her hands occupied, Abigail isn't quire sure what to do with herself. She ghosts a hand over his, and quickly decides against it, instead linking her arm back with his. )

I thought I'd leave that part to the imagination.

( With an immediate subject change, she clears her throat, looking up at the night sky. If they were anywhere but Hollywood, perhaps they'd be able to see stars. The lights from the busy city prevent this, and leaves a void where constellations should be. )

Is it just us tonight?

[ all of this is temporary — if what seth wants is to go off and pull his own job, so be it. he's told him, time and time again, not to make it personal. if they're in this, they can't cloud their thinking with past events. that's what distracts, keeps you from your goal. it's an idea that's never sat well with his brother. he wears his heart on his sleeve, after all, and who's goddamn fault is that? ( some tattoo artist's in new orleans, if we're being literal. )

so, he goes it alone. he goes it alone and he's told seth that he'll wait it out. he won't be a part of this. what happens without him isn't his responsibility. this isn't something guilt can sway. it's seth's choice and it's richie's to stay behind. he's set up at some rinky dink motel in san diego, but he isn't looking for luxury. right now, all he's looking for is a place to rethink, recuperate.

he doesn't realize how sore he is until he's stepped out of the shower. there's a small miracle, in the way the water kneads across his shoulders and back. everything he does is a method, from the way he steps out to the bathmat, to the product he slides through his hair. the sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled to his elbows, each button clasped to the top. he forgoes the shoes, reaching for the doorknob looking renewed, baptized.

there's something out of place, he senses it before he turns the off-brand gold. richie slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the image of a young girl on his bed coming clear into focus. he doesn't hesitate. as she makes for the door, his hands reach to the suit jacket, a gun withdrawn quickly and cocked in her direction.

he stares at her, jaw clenched. ]

You wanna tell me what you're really doing in here?

[ You have to let me go. Richie remembers his words, thinks on them often — he'd lived a life without Seth, but never like this. It was like walking in two separate worlds, he and his brother toeing opposing sides of the same, extended line, but never given the ability to cross. The time for that was not yet, Santanico explains, and Richie understands, but a small, childish part of him doesn't want to.

He misses the sunlight. He never imagined the last time he'd feel it on his face was when he was standing just outside of a titty bar down past the Mexican border. Now, he only watches a sunset through tinted windows and on big screens. Her company fills a certain void, but Richie's possessed it for so long now, he hardly recognized it needed something wedged there. It's the only warmth he feels anymore.

There are things, these days, that he can't have, but through it, he has her. Santanico. She's like no one he has ever known. ( Not that he's met many culebra goddesses. ) He looks on her and he tries to understand. Years of time and restraint have kept her from the world outside. It's a changed world, a new world. She marvels, he provides insight. She's intoxicating; she puzzles him. This is what I do: I figure it out.

The graze of her nails on his cheek is a feeling he isn't doomed to forget. He presses further into the palm of her hand, skin against skin. By the book, vampires are said to be cold to the touch. He never feels particularly cool in her presence.

He looks into her eyes, half of a grin quirking at his lips. ]

What's a guy gotta do to get a decent meal around here?

[ It's a bad joke. Of course it is. ]

[ Plans change. Of course plans change. Does it mean they should have to? Does it mean that he, himself, should have to alter their course? No. But he will, because he wants to. Because he knows that Seth will want her earn her right back into their fold.

This isn't his first rodeo. Richie understands the way Seth operates better than anybody. Sometimes, even Seth. He steps away from the door frame. ]

You're like a bad penny, you know that? [ He stands straight, glancing at the building mirroring their own.

Richie looks at her over his shoulder. ] You better hope your luck changes by the time Seth wakes up.

[ She could kill him, and he would be powerless to do anything about it. His obsession with iron has only just begun to burgeon — as of now, there's none of it on his person, and he has no idea as to the extent of her magic. Though he doesn't move to attack her, or draw closer or further away, fear clouds his thoughts, tips the incline of his descent into madness. (Both of them stand still. Is it uncertainty that keeps them rooted?)

They haven't been alone since that fateful night in the Moors. Was it sentiment or cowardice that had stayed his hand from killing her, then, he can't remember — though, still, he convinces himself it had been a kindness that he had only taken her wings. He can remember feeling her pulse under his hand, but he would not dare to touch her, now.

The muscles in his jaw shift as he looks at her, wondering if she truly is here solely to mock him, or if she expects an apology. (Never, so dictates his pride.) He has pored over every moment that has passed, for the large part simply allowing blind bitterness and rage to sway his heart, but also wondering, however briefly, where, exactly, the biggest mistake had been made. If he ought to have killed her, if he ought to have reached out, following the coronation, if he ought to have begged harder for her to spare his daughter's life. But no, he thinks, he couldn't have afforded any of it. ]

If you're here to kill me, then be done with it.

[ His voice is sharp, reedy in his throat. (He — as all men do — still fears death. But it's a balance between that, and calling whatever it is her bluff may be.) ]

Besides, there's only one answer that matters. Iron burns the fairy folk, and that's what you still are, even if you no longer have your wings.

[ Of course he saw what happened, but does it make this little predicament make some sense? That's the real goddamn question of the day. Actually, scratch that. The real question is: who the hell are these girls? He finds it a little difficult to believe that the gingernut, alone, is the entirety of Beacon Hills' brigade in blue.

Especially dressed like that. ]

You know, it was the damnedest thing. She, uh. She slipped? and fell on a pair of safety scissors — look at her. You tell me.

[ It was a good suit. Now stained with the blood of some innocent girl who didn't deserve whatever the hell this was that happened to her. A wolf. A goddamn wolf. It's about as likely as a lightning strike and twice as goddamn baffling. He winces as he wipes the back of his wrist across his forehead.

Seth raises both his palms now, both hands stained red with that girl's life. It's useless. He starts up from his knees, standing to his full height. ]

It was a goddamn wolf. Size of a friggin' bear. It came in, took a piss, grabbed some jerky, and — oh, right. Killed an innocent girl for shits and giggles.

[ He grabs a towel off of a nearby dollar rack, turning the white rag into a shade of pink. She won't miss it. ]

You call the cops?

Nobody here but us chickens.

[ Seth unlocks the passenger door, opening it up wide to allow her enough room. He raises his eyebrows, folding his hands together as he leans into the side. Richard had his role to play. The final plans were being put into motion now, and if this thing was going to go down successfully, Abigail needed to see what was in store for her. ]

Tonight, Little Miss Hobbs, you and I will be playing the parts of Mr. and Mrs. Garza from Atlantic City. Which reminds me —

[ He rummages through his pockets until he finds what it is he's looking for. It's a small ring, cheap, but effective. He gathers down on one knee, glancing up at her from in between the open car door. Seth lifts his chin, grinning in a way that can only be described as shit-eating. ]

Will you do me the honors of being my completely smokin' wife for roughly an hour and a half, Ms. Garza? Ah — [ He holds up a finger, the ring round between his middle and thumb. ] Three choices, and the first two don't count.

( Lydia's life has been at the hands of many people — werewolves, psychotic serial killing lizard ex-boyfriends, whatever the hell it was that Jennifer Blake actually turned out to be, but none of those are as terrifying as the gun that's currently pointed in her direction.

There's nothing she can possibly do to defend herself from a gun, and she knows that. One pull of this stranger's finger and she'd be dead on the ground before anybody even knew what was happening behind the closed door.

She could scream. After all, she is a banshee. She could scream and everyone within a mile radius would hear her; everyone in the motel would come running, but something tells her that the trigger would be pulled the second she took in a deep breath.

Thinking her life more important, and hoping that the man in front of her isn't hoping to kill a teenage girl today, Lydia holds up a hand, reaching into the pocket of her shorts with the other. Inwardly, she thanks whatever God that might exist that she decided against wearing a dress on a day where she's done nothing but sit in a car all day.

When she lifts her arm back up, she's holding a key with the room number of the room they're in, B12. )

They must have double booked us. ( Lydia holds it forward, offering it to him to show that she didn't break into his room.

As if she would break into a place like this. ) I can just go get another one. We don't even have to mention .. this.

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Page 2 of 5

( AN OPEN POST #2 )

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santanico. (screech hi idk)

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yolo fight me about it

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