| |
Neutral
|
Alrighty. So. PLOT: ~ 
THE OFFICIAL RULING: Isadora C. Whitney died of a tragic accident of an accidental misuse of prescribed anti-depressants. The misuse? She was found with high levels of grapefruit in her system, a common yet deadly fruit that combined with the medication rose her blood pressure to such high levels it caused heart faliure. Case closed. The golden girl, from the richest estate along the coastline with old money like everyone had. Everyone mourned her abrupt departure. Some people don't think it was an accident. Tensions rise as rivalries flare, alliances shift, and the glossy world of old money turns venomous. Everyone's watching, but no one of them knows what really happened. ~ Standard rules also do apply though. Please don't post if you're not mentioned in the title. While I can't physically stop you, just don't do it. Thanks :D |
|  |
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Full Name Shiloh Avner Brooks Nicknames Brooky, Boo Name Meaning Sent, Light, Running Water Gender Male Pronouns He/Him Sexuality Painfully Straight Personality Shiloh is the kind of guy who can charm his way through any room, always with a smile that could talk anyone into anything. He knows exactly how to work a crowd, and he’s got a knack for making people laugh or swoon with just a few words. His confidence is through the roof: he knows he’s prettier, richer, and more talented than most, and he’s not afraid to let you know. But it’s not so much arrogance as it is knowing he’s got the “I can get away with anything” energy, and it makes him feel untouchable. He’s a bit bratty, teasing people for fun, and it occasionally can go too far, becoming mean-spirited.
While he’s competitive by nature, he’s also a bit lazy. Shiloh has a ton of natural talent, especially in sports: tennis, hockey, but he doesn’t always give 100%. He can coast through life without trying too hard and still come out on top, but if you push him hard enough, he’s more than capable of flipping the switch and dominating.
On the outside, Shiloh often comes across as a little shallow, obsessed with appearances, luxury, and all the perks of being rich. His social presence is flawless, and he’s always surrounded by people. But with a look closer, one can see that Shiloh’s more than just a pretty boy with a trust fund. He’s got a secret desire to get his loving but distant parents to notice him. Most of his life has been spent trying to earn their approval, chasing after their attention because it’s always felt just out of reach. No matter how many trophies or good grades he gets, it’s never enough to make them truly see him for who he is.
Flirty and non-committal, Shiloh’s always got someone on his arm, but he never sticks around long enough to form anything real. He’s just in it for the thrill and the attention. Even so, he’d never admit it, but there’s loyalty buried beneath all the bravado.
Appearance Shiloh is a solid 6’1”, with a lean, athletic frame that screams effortless Daddy’s money. His face is all sharp jawlines and high cheekbones, like he was born to be on a yacht in the Hamptons. His lips are just the right amount of full, almost pushing feminine, and when he smiles, it’s got that cocky smirk, like he’s got the world figured out. His eyes? Piercing blue that can either make you feel like he’s reading your soul or like he’s just sizing you up. His hair’s the perfect mix of messy and styled, a little longer than most, falling past his collarbone in sun-kissed waves that say he doesn’t try too hard, and it works (on most girls).. He’s always dressed designer, but in that effortlessly preppy way: tailored shirts, fresh kicks, and polos or button-ups that fit just right. He’s always got a gold watch on his wrist, a couple of bracelets, and sunglasses perched on his face, because why wouldn’t he? He walks into any room, and you know immediately he’s never wanted, never had to work a day in his life. Family Ties:
Garrett William Brooks (Father)- Garrett Brooks was a man carved from stone, a monument to ambition and discipline in its most merciless form. From the moment he could walk, he had been pushed toward greatness, each step weighed down by the crushing expectations of a family that measured love in success and valued silence over sentiment. Failure was never an option—not in the Brooks lineage.
Garrett had understood that from the start.
So he made himself unbreakable. He attended all the right schools, climbed every ladder that was placed before him, and pushed himself harder than anyone dared to ask. His victories were never loud, never celebrated with champagne toasts or proud slaps on the back; they were expected.
Earned in sweat and sleepless nights, and acknowledged with a curt nod or a new responsibility to shoulder. At twenty-eight, he married Evelyn Brooks—a woman whose name alone opened doors, but whose beauty and breeding made her a prize even in circles where everyone had money. She was one of the very few people Garrett genuinely admired, though true to his nature, he rarely expressed it.
Affection, to him, was a private thing.
Almost a weakness.
In public, they were the perfect pair: polished, poised, untouchable.
Behind closed doors, his loyalty to her was deep and unwavering—though often unspoken. Fatherhood, like marriage, was simply another duty to perform flawlessly.
Garrett approached his sons the same way he approached his business ventures: expecting perfection, tolerating nothing less.
He demanded excellence, offered little praise, and viewed emotions as distractions best eradicated early.
Mistakes were not learning opportunities in Garrett’s world—they were embarrassments.
Risks were foolish unless they were guaranteed wins.
And softness?
Softness had no place in the Brooks family crest. Still, somewhere buried under all the steel and pressure, there was a part of Garrett that felt pride for his boys—brief flashes he quickly stamped down before they could make him careless. Love, in his mind, was not the wild, messy thing the poets talked about.
It was quiet. Evelyn Vera Brookss (Mother)- Evelyn Brooks was the crown jewel of East Coast aristocracy. Tall, fair, and almost painfully beautiful in that effortless, old money kind of way, she had been raised in a world of pressed pleats, cashmere cardigans, and carefully calculated charm. From her first breath, she had been groomed for a life of polished perfection—private schools where the skirt hem was inspected more carefully than the curriculum, summers spent gliding between yacht clubs and seaside galas, and winters tucked away in ski lodges that smelled of cedar and legacy. She had been raised to believe her life would unfold like a string of pearls: one polished event after another, culminating in the ultimate prize—a wealthy husband who could finance her endless clam bakes, charity balls, and shopping sprees without ever asking where the money went.
Children had never been part of her dreams.
But children were expected. Evelyn endured her pregnancies with the same detached grace she applied to everything unpleasant—head held high, smile politely frozen in place, eyes already drifting past the cribs and baby showers to the next luncheon or polo match. She bore her two sons dutifully, gave them strong names—names that looked good engraved on silver picture frames—and then stepped back, her maternal obligations complete. The boys were accessories to her life, much like her string of Mikimoto pearls or her gleaming white Range Rover: polished, presented, but rarely handled.
She made sure they looked right—pressed shirts, matching haircuts, perfectly staged holiday cards—but she left the actual raising to governesses, tutors, and the crushing expectations of the Brooks legacy. She worked tirelessly to shape them into the ideal Brooks men: quiet, charming, handsome, and above all, unblemished.
No messy emotions.
No loud opinions.
No failures. Love, in Evelyn’s world, was not unconditional.
It was a reward you earned by being better.
By being perfect. And perfection, after all, was the family business. Sutton Aubrey Brooks (Brother)- Sutton Aubrey Brooks might look like a carbon copy of his older brother, but that’s where the resemblance ended.
Sure, they shared the same sun-bleached curls, the same broad, white, camera-ready smiles that made strangers sigh and family friends whisper aren’t they just perfect?
But the shine on Sutton was a little different.
Less polished, more dangerous. Where Shiloh could be cold and cutting in a crowd—every move deliberate, every smile a performance—Sutton carried himself with a quieter, almost lazy charm. He flirted. He teased. He played the part of the carefree younger brother with an easy, lopsided grin and that golden-boy glint in his eye.
But the moment the air shifted—the moment tension cracked in the room—Sutton sharpened.
He listened, waited, learned. There was a patience to Sutton that made him infinitely more dangerous than his flashier, more impulsive brother.
He didn’t need to be the loudest.
He just needed to be the last one standing. Unlike Shiloh, who craved their parents' affection like a half-starved dog, Sutton had different ambitions.
He didn’t want approval, he didn’t even want acknowledgment. Sutton wanted to be untouchable.
Stronger.
Smarter.
Self-made in a family that measured worth by bloodlines and bank accounts.
He loved his brother fiercely, but he knew better than to follow in his footsteps. Shiloh bled for the family. Sutton planned to walk away from it. Still, beneath all the edges, Sutton was a rose, an absolute rose.
Soft. Sincere.
Someone who laughed too easily, who could make a room feel lighter just by walking into it, who still believed in something gentler than what they were raised for, even if he didn’t dare say it out loud. Favourite Quote “I desire the things which will destroy me in the end.” -Sylvia Plath Other ❤︎ |
|  |
|
| |
Neutral
|
Valeria Rengel Female (she/her) q ~ Appearance; Valeria stands at a respectable 165cm (fight me Americans >:D) with a ponytail of cholocolate brown hair falling down to about her waist. Hazel brown eyes and high cheekbones go with that too. It isn't about her physical appearance, though, usually when you see her. While she doesn't have much physical strength to back herself (being about 55kgs?), she still has the vibe of "don't mess". Partly because of her stance - while shy of being aggressive, it definitely isn't submissive either. She's a bit proud, too - shoulders back, spine straight. A collected demeanour, at least in front of other people. Because while there's othe people, there's judgement. And judgement isn't good, unless it's good judgement. So while she's not excatly posturing - it's an ingrained habit for her to hold herself upright - it is still for the visual cameras - that she isn't really going to back down or be some submissive lady. ~ Personality; On first impressions, Valeria can be a bit overwhelming. Slightly distant and reserved, not exactly conributing but not being a deadweight either. Somewhere in the middle, where she is helping and keeping the conversation up, but not really doing much. That's usually because she doesn't want to talk to you, so hey, heads up! The cold and standoffish feel is only reserved for absolute strangers or people she doesn't like, though, and to most other people Valeria is... let's call it passionate. "Dedicated" might be a better word, honestly. Point in case, she's willing to go a long way to get something done - while she may be in the higher social circles, she also understands that money doesn't come for free in her family. As a first-generation American with Latino roots, in these cicles purely because of the status of her parents, it's a tall image to live up to and continue. Result is her dedication, understanding that she still needs to work to stay in these circles. This has given her... a bit of disdain for all of those with old money that also flaut it by doing whatever they want. She holds quite a bit of a work ethic to herself, and for those who don't have any at all, she's a bit distant from them unless she's required to get something from them. It can be a bit annoying, true - but that's just how she is with people she isn't comfortable with. This also comes with it's cons, however. Her work ethic strings he up to the point where minute errors can hang her up on for far too long. Debating and counter-debating in her head about major things is easy. For the more minor things... some tiny aspect that people would have moved on from, Verlia can just sometimes get stuck at. It's just the aspect that bothers her. Valeria has a heightened sense of empathy - to the point where the ant on the wall will be moved onto a piece of paper and moved outside rather than being smacked. This also applies to people, however; she's able to empathize with quite a proportion of people, as long as they're not being what classifies as "idiot" in Valeria's mind. (Unfortunately, quite a few people qualify.) While it's not to the point of standing up for the new guy who no-one knows in the yard, she'd stillf feel for that person. Unless they got what they deserved, that is. Nonetheless, she isn't one to try taunt another. Speaking of which, Valeria's friendship circles are significantly more defined than others. To most other people, she seems like someone who wouldn't be the greatest of friends, but to those who know him she really associates himself with those she forms bonds with. With association comes the will to be able to stand up for them, too. This is another defining aspect of Valeria's personality - she is loyal to those he believes is right. Even if they aren't. Loyal to a fault. Emotions aren't something Valeria can express easily. With her straight-backed posture, it's easy to assume that "she's fine". Sometimes she isn't, and just goes to great lengths to hide exactly that. She doesn't want people to know about herself - she holds empathy to others and is willing to sympathize with them, but herself? Nope. No-one needs to know of her inner struggles of attempting to live up to her parents' name, or how some aspects of her personality clash all the time. They just don't need to know, so Valeria hides it. Problem solved... kind of. Valeria rarely smiles. The world is a serious place, she's serious about what she's trying to do, and why the hell are you still standing in her way? With that is parts of her concentration - "posing for the cameras", as one would say it in modern terms. Valeria tries to cultivate the feel of somewhat distant (because she doesn't want to talk to you), focussed on doing what's needed with her work ethic. But then that's just with people that don't classify as a close friend, or when there's people at all. While not entirely stone-faced - her expression can change, thank you very much - it's sill posing for the nonexistent cameras. ~ ... might add more later? Consider it done but I might add more e.e |
| |
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Shiloh tugged at the tight collar of his suit jacket, glaring at his reflection like it had personally offended him. The dark fabric hugged his frame too stiffly, too properly, like it was trying to box him into the perfect son he was supposed to be. Everything about today felt off, like he was moving through someone else’s nightmare, and he was bone-deep exhausted from the endless grief parading through the house.
Being a Brooks had never exactly been a dream come true. It was more like a curated museum exhibit: polished smiles, manicured lawns, and rules you didn’t even know you were breaking until it was too late. But this? This was worse.
His cousin Isobel, sweet, bright, untouchable Izzy, was dead. And no one had answers, at least not good ones.. No warning signs, no whispered secrets about her health between the older members of the family. Just... gone. Like a breath of summer wind. It didn’t make sense. Isobel had been one of the few good things in their world of coldness: smart, beautiful, different in the way he had only ever dreamed of being.
Shiloh swallowed hard, memories hitting him like waves against the rocks. Sun-drenched afternoons tangled in beach towels, laughing so hard their sides ached. Secret mocktails made with too much whipped cream. Long hours floating in the Atlantic while their parents argued politics and history behind heavy glass doors. He hadn’t seen her much in the past few years: life had gotten complicated, and it was easier to carry on than to reach back—but still. He had still cared for her. And now she was a headline.
The heavy oak door creaked open, pulling him out of the spiral. Sutton stepped into the room, looking about as wrecked as Shiloh felt. His brother's dark grey suit was rumpled like he'd lost a battle against sleep, but his eyes were red-rimmed and heavy, like he hadn't rested in weeks.
Shiloh didn’t say anything at first. He just watched in the mirror as Sutton crossed the room and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, slumped forward like all the air had been knocked out of him.
Their mother Evelyn, would certainly *not* approve. She had built them like matching bookends: tall, blond, well-mannered. Given them identical initials, identical monogrammed polos, identical damn haircuts for half their childhood. And then she had left them to figure it all out on their own. To be perfect, quietly, and preferably far away from her.
Shiloh adjusted his tie with a sharp jerk, checking the knot like it would somehow armor him against what was coming.
“Well,” he said after a beat, voice rough, trying for casual and missing by a mile. “The car’s probably waiting.”
Sutton didn’t move, but stared down at the floor like it might give him answers no one else could. Finally, he mumbled, "Why would someone hurt Izzy?"
Shiloh’s jaw tightened. He turned from the mirror, fists clenching at his sides without him even realizing.
“We don’t know that for sure,” he snapped, too harsh, too fast. He knew he was arguing just to argue, and he knew Sutton knew it too. They fell into a tired silence, walking down towards the stairs. ---- The drive to the church was silent except for the soft hum of the car engine and the occasional click of Sutton anxiously tapping his thumb against the seat belt buckle.
Shiloh slumped deeper into the leather seat, legs spread out like he didn’t have a care in the world, though he was doing his best not to spiral into the memories again. He tilted his head against the window, letting the cool glass press into his temple, and watched the world blur by—rows of mansions with neatly trimmed hedges; stone walls and large gilt gates with familiar last names arching gracefully over them.
The car pulled up to the church, a bright white stone building that looked like it had been yanked straight out of some old novel. White flowers spilled down the front steps, too pristine, too fresh and newborn for what they were about to walk into.
The driver stepped out and opened the door, and the boys straightened, preparing for the blaze of the sun, the throngs of people. Sutton slid out first, pulling at the cuffs of his jacket like it would somehow make him look less pained. Shiloh hesitated, just for a second, and straightened his tie. Rolled his shoulders back. There couldn’t be hesitation today, not with so many people expecting so much, looking to them.
Smile, Shiloh. Look the part. Make them proud, for once.
He stepped out of the car and into the breezy summer air, feeling what felt like a thousand pairs of eyes flick to him.
Shiloh slid his sunglasses down from where they rested in his curls, hiding the fresh sting creeping into his eyes. No one wanted to see a boy cry, especially from his family. That wasn't the brand.
The massive oak doors of the church yawned open, and the smell of lilies hit him like a punch to the gut. He hated lilies. Izzy had hated them too, at least that's what he thought he remembered. Whose idea had they been?
Sutton hovered at his side, looking like a little kid again, lost and furious all at once. Shiloh bumped his shoulder lightly into his brother’s, a rare show of affection neither of them would ever acknowledge out loud,and together, they walked up the steps. |
| |
|
| |
Neutral
|
Valeria really didn't handle death well. The loss and complete absence of a friend? The cessation of life? It all just felt empty. She'd mulled over it previously, like anyone had. Where did consciousness go aftter death? Was there an afterlife? Or heaven? Or soemthing like that. Valeria didn't want to hear that "she's gone" one more freaking time or else she'd probably slap them. It was enough knowing that one of her few friends here, one of the few that didn't act like a stuck-up rich kid with too much money (even though she techincally qualified for that) was gone. It was more of the emptiness of it all. It had been ruled an accident. An accident. What kind of accident happens at a golf course that gets one killed? What kind of accident would lead to the cessation of life? Cessation. The fact or process of ending or being brought to an end. Like her friend's life was a process, like a machine would end a process after being overloaded with bullshit. Much like the bullshit that she'd been fed the past few days. Her father hadn't even taken a day off his work. "Val, I'm sorry to hear that. Truly sorry. But I have a meeting on at the exact same time, even though I'd really like to come..." The bullshit continued. So here she was, alone in her car with only herself for company, soon to be in the company of the poshest and richest folks that seemed too snobby for their own good, and her best friend was dead from a freaking accident. An accident. Note to everyone else: it was probably best to not get Valeria started on it. She hit the steering wheel in anger, and the car's horn belatedly beeped in response. It wasn't something she honestly meant to do, but sometimes she felt she couldn't express herself truly anymore. Around anyone, with their rich money, and while Valeria felt a certain disdain for them, any wrong move on her part would mean that her parent's multimillion dollar business would suffer. She'd been drilled through that already - the families were far too tied together in this place. Which meant every day was a day for posing for the cameras. Even for the freaking surveillance system to prevent intruders. Izzy had been one of the few people that she hadn't needed to do that with. She actually understood. And an "accident" had happened. There it was again. Another word she couldn't bear to hear. Here was the complete list so far; - "I'm sorry"
- "tragic accident"
- "There was nothing you could do"
Valeria would like it very much to strangle the next person that said that to her with their silly ties in their silly black blazer holding their silly money. Unfortunately, she couldn't do that. Because her dad needed the business ties, like his multimillion dollar business was worth more than his daughter's wellbeing. She knew when she took over the business once her parents got too old that she'd have to do the same thing. Yet that didn't mean that she valued money over people. Her family had money, yes - but it was empty. There was that word again. Her parents were just focussed on the business and money. She got the flash school and flash house with the new money, but that was just it - it was new. She still had to work for it. The snobs with their old money could freaking stuff it if they ever told her she didn't need to work. Because she did. Pulling into the parking lot and killing the engine, for a moment all she could do was lean on the steering wheel, slowly gathering herself. Breathe in. Breathe out. To the outside world, Valeria Regnel had to look completely fine. Maybe a bit upset. Anything other than that, and people would begin wondering why the Regnel's sole child looked so upset. Too less, and everyone would wonder why the Regnel's sole child didn't seem to care enough to shed a tear at her friend's funeral. With all due respect, she felt like she should just take their opinions and stuff it. But then her dad needed the business ties! So she couldn't do it! And "oh I'm sorry' wouldn't cut it, like it did last time. So a Valeria very different to the Valeria that she'd felt like in the car stepped out of the car and locked it. A Valeria that appeared to not seethe when someone else (whom her dad needed business ties to!) pointed her out as the deceased's best friend. A Valeria who seemed sad that it was a true accident. A Valeria that fit in perfectly, and a Valeria that wouldn't mess up her dad's business ties. |
| |
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Sutton led the way into the church, and Shiloh made sure not to drag too far behind.Not because he cared about punctuality or respect, but because he knew the optics mattered. Press was sure to be everywhere, always watching.
The Brooks sons, arriving together, polished and controlled. Tasteful, even in their supposed grief. He didn’t want to be here.e. Every breath inside the church felt thick and sweet like rot, the kind of scent that stuck to your skin no matter how hard you scrubbed. Lilies were everywhere, like someone had tried to drown the room in florals to make up for the coffin at the center of it. He barely glanced at it.
He didn’t want to look too closely, and let in the memories. Shiloh kept his eyes on the floor tiles instead. They were marble, and chipped in one corner, probably from the thousands of funerals this place had seen. He tried to think about that instead. Thousands of people dead, thousands of people dressed up in black, fake-crying and choking on expensive perfume and talking about the deceased even if they’d barely known them. He knew how this went.
Smile sad. Nod slow. Dab the corner of your eye like you’re going to cry but that would involve losing control on the situtation. Sit straight. Don’t fidget. Don't yawn. The list was endless. His mother would be watching. She always was. Evelyn and Garrett waited for them in the foyer, pristine and eerily composed. Shiloh's back snapped straight the moment he saw them, like he’d been yanked by an invisible string. Sutton didn’t bother fixing his posture, not interested in letting their parents pressure him into anything. Evelyn’s expression didn’t shift from one of subdued sadness. Garrett gave them each a nod, and then turned without a word, leading the way down the aisle. Shiloh trailed after them, steps slow, his head pounding from the cloying heat. He wanted to tear it off, open the doors, and breathe real air again. He wasn’t sure if it was the grief or the performance of it that was exhausting him. Both, maybe. The coffin loomed ahead. White and polished. Pretending to be elegant when it was really just a box of death. He looked for barely a moment. Isobel didn’t look like herself anymore. But really, Shiloh wasn’t sure he’d even know what she should look like. They hadn’t spoken properly in years.just liked each other’s Instagram posts and saw each other at family Christmases where no one stayed long enough to argue. He couldn't remember her favorite colour, or the sound of her laugh. He could barely remember the childhood memories either. Everything had a sort of haze over it. Still, seeing her laid out like that made his stomach twist. Not from sadness, not really, but from the wrongness of it all. She was too young. She wasn’t supposed to end like this. Not yet. Sutton had already taken a seat near the front. Shiloh sighed and slid in beside him, his shoulder brushing against his brother’s. Sutton sat stock still, hands in his lap, eyes fixed forward with a glassy, bored expression that fooled most people into thinking he wasn’t feeling anything at all. Shiloh resisted the urge to fidget, instead messing with his cufflinks for the third time. The priest had moved to the front of the building. People were still filing in, murmuring politely about traffic and flower arrangements and how “awful” it all was. He caught Sutton tapping his thumb rhythmically against his thigh, subtle, but there.
Shiloh raised an eyebrow. “If we sneak out now, do you think Mother would notice?” Shiloh murmured, voice low. Sutton didn’t look at him. Didn’t even blink. Just stared straight ahead with that cool, unreadable mask of his, like Shiloh wasn’t even worth the energy it would take to shut him down. Shiloh considered staying quiet after that—considered it. But silence had never really been his thing. He leaned a little closer, one brow lifted. “Golf after?” There was a beat, and Shiloh began to worry that perhaps it had been in poor taste given the circumstances, but then Sutton gave the tiniest nod. Barely a tilt of his head, but it was enough. Shiloh relaxed back into the pew, satisfied, letting his gaze flicker to the coffin one more time, then back to the stained-glass windows behind it. The light spilled in like melted gold. |
| |
|
| |
Neutral
|
Stepping into the church, while Valeria's slighly numb mind didn't exactly process everything that was happening, what she could process outside the meaphorical mask was... lilies. Ick. Ick? Ick. Izzy hadn't liked lilies, she could recall - she'd said they felt too... strong. Plus, weren't lilies the flower of death? The flower of death. Thatt single thought brought her crashing back down to earth again. The flower of death. Either someone was playing a cruel joke with he lilies or a clueless director placed them there. Valeria would wager on the latter, but it still felt cruel. Stepping to the right suddenly to avoid an oncoming person - someone who she didn't know, someone who needed business connections with her father, and someone who had taken time out of their day unlike her father - she finally looked up from the ground, and took a look at the crowd. Valeria-who-wouldn't-screw-up-her-father's-business-contracts face on. What she finally properly registered were a lot of posh people. Well, technically she counted as that too, but... either the church was just really small or her brain thought there were more people than there actually was. Her gaze traveled to the open coffin. In it, she knew, was her best friend. Inescapably dead. She didn't want to go up the front to see her dead friend one last time. She didn't want to say "goodbye" or whatever they all seemed to be doing at the front. She didn't want to... really, there were a lot of things that she didn't want to do in that moment. She didn't want her best friend to have died and have it ruled an accident was a major sticking point, too. Choosing to skip the line to view her friend's dead body entirely, she started walking down the side, aiming for a seat near the middle where there seemed to be a gap decent enough for her to sit in. A mistake, because there was Mr Cresswell, her business teacher, right in her way. "Valeria. What a pleasure indeed to see you here, despite the circumstances." He glanced at the coffin, and Valeria had a brief moment of wanting to uppercut him. Really, this was exactly what Valeria didn't want to have to do. "I'm sorry." "Are you okay?" Valeria dealt with grief in her own way, and her own way did include really, really not enjoying this kind of thing. She didn't feel comforted by it. Unfortunately, Mr Cresswell was completely oblivious to it, and kept going. "I'm sure you must also be feeling the pain of this as much as anyone else, if not more. I remember Izzy and you were very close indeed, and she was quite the prodigious student indeed." Izzy really hadn't been the best business student, Mr Cresswell. You're glorifying her in her death. "Anyway, if you need anything, even a slight extension to your project to cope with this tragic event-" ... really? Mr Cresswell took this moment to ask about her business project? Out of all the times he could have picked- The thought of her business project sent her in spirals again. She'd come up with her starting idea brainstorming with Izzy on a Wednesday night, having drunk too much Sprite and both burping like idiots and giggling out like little girls alongside every burp while attempting to do work. "Thank you, Mr Cresswell." Valeria tempered her tone even, masking almost all of her feelings by pushing it down, down, into the deep dark hole where she could go over them later. "I'll consider it, but for now..." ... now she needed an excuse. Now she needed an excuse to leave. Crap. "... I need to... I'll talk to you later about the project, if that's fine. I just..." Valeria didn't think, even as Mr Cresswell's brows drew together in sympathy for her - god damn it she didn't want sympathy! - and she put her head back down slightly and continued down the side. She didn't exactly pay attention to where she was going, so a second later she realized she'd gone too far and was now rapidly approaching the congregation surrounding her friend's body. Now here was a dilemma for her. She could hardly back out of going up now - people would see and notice the deceased's best friend backing off and refusing to see her after "going up of their own free will". But she'd already told herself not to. The lesser of the evils was the latter, she decided. Moving her gaze up from the marble floor, she took a look at her dead friend's body. It was awful.
Valeria looked at her dead friend - her besto Izzy - one last time, and with what felt like he entire being torn into two, she slid her metaphorical mask back on, looking shaken and sad, but nowhere near as shaken and sad as she felt inside - and made her way back down the side to find a seat. |
| |
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
The service passed as expected: long, drawn out, and drenched in the falsest form of grief. A few real tears were shed, but most seemed strategically placed; blotted neatly with silk handkerchiefs and timed for the cameras. Evelyn stood tall at the lectern and quoted Tennyson like she was delivering the State of the Union. Sutton won ten dollars off Shiloh, who had bet on Hemingway. “Too messy,” Sutton whispered, pocketing his winnings with a smug little smirk. “Mother doesn’t do messy.” When the coffin was finally closed and carried out, there was a nearly imperceptible exhale from the entire room. Everyone stood just a little straighter. The ritual was done, the photos were taken, the show was over. Shiloh busied himself with the riveting task of trying to swap out his cufflinks with Sutton’s without him noticing. Sutton caught him in under two seconds and shot him a look that could've singed his hair. Afterward, the crowd funneled toward the back terrace of the church for the funeral luncheon, if it could even be called that. The food was terribly polite and fashionable: crustless cucumber sandwiches, smoked salmon so delicate it might crumble to dusst if poked, and neat little bowls of pastel punch that looked more like blush than something drinkable. Everything was picture-perfect and thoroughly unappetizing. Shiloh did his best imitation of a proper young man, shaking hands with his father’s business partners, flirting just the right amount at his mother’s friends, and pretending not to notice the discreet clicks of distant cameras. He was used to it by now. Smile, nod, flirt, deflect, repeat. A game he played better than most. Still, he was practically vibrating to leave. His tie felt like it was trying to kill him, and he hadn’t slept enough the night before. Not that sleep ever came easy in that house. College was already beating him down, and now this spectacle was eating up his entire afternoon. The promise of eighteen holes and Sutton’s rare but oddly soothing presence was the only thing keeping him from just leaving. If Izzy was gone, then fine. That’s what people did—they left. Or they stopped calling. Or they vanished in ways that were technically still “around,” just no longer your problem. Shiloh barely knew the girl anymore. Last time he’d really seen her, she was sixteen and sunburnt, doing cartwheels in the yard with lemonade-stained lips and tangled hair, laughing so hard she'd snorted milk up her nose. Once, years ago, she’d dared Shiloh to jump off the dock in nothing but his tux vest and boxers. He’d done it without hesitation, laughing as the silk clung to his chest and their parents yelled from inside the house. She’d called him brave. Or maybe stupid. Honestly, same thing. That memory drifted in uninvited now, sharp and dark, just as he reached for a sandwich he had no intention of eating. It made him feel off. Like he’d swallowed too much seawater by mistake. Shiloh glanced around the terrace. Sutton was deep into a conversation with a girl who looked like she’d majored in champagne and petty gossip, and looking like he wanted to jump off a cliff, and Evelyn was busy with her second retelling of the family lineage to a man who absolutely did not care one lick who her father was. Garrett stood off to the side, silent behind his wife. Shiloh tugged at his cuffs again. “God, can we just go?” he muttered under his breath, to no one in particular. He wasn’t mourning. No. Not really. |
| |
|
| |
Neutral
|
Valeria just couldn't deal with it. One more mention about how good Izzy's life was and she'd probably scream. She just couldn't take it any more. Instead of heading to the back to the "luncheon" - whose idea was it to have a luncheon after a funeral? - she quiely exited out the door. She didn't want to eat in her friend's honour or whatever they were doing. An accident. A freaking accident and that was it, it was done, nothing was solved. The outside was relieving after being stuck in the church for so long, and Valeria inwardly exhaled in relief. The scent of lilies was just... too much to have been breathing in for too long. And the feeling of "sadness". Recounting the good parts of her life. She just couldn't. There was a slightly weather-beaten bench out the front of the church (probably dedicated in memory of someone-or-other), and Valeria carefully sat on it. Perched, more like, but she hardly paid attention to the bench, or the spider that quietly crawled away once she almost sat on it. The funeral had evoked more things than had it settled, and while she supposed she should have felt comforted... an accident. A freaking accident? It wasn't something that she'd have done, but that was the official ruling. There was no way that what had happened was an accident. And she still didn't want to see them eating in her honour, or whatever bullshit they were doing. Her besto Izzy was gone and a freaking accident had taken her? Gods, she'd been her best friend since intermediate. She could understand how most of the others in atendanc had been comforted by whatever they said. They had accepted it. Moved on. Valeria was still stuck there. She knew Izzy wouldn't have done such a thing tha got her into this. She just wasn't like that. Even after everyone else had accepted it and moved on, she just... couldn't. Just for a moment, she let her facade crack. But it wasn't tears that escaped her, but anger. She... she couldn't believe it. How could she have just... left like that? Even if it wasn't her fault, she just... it wasn't something that she would do. That was a fact that Valeria had concluded days ago and kept returning to it. This accident... there was no way she would have done it in the first place. Izzy had known better than that. She was smarter than that. And yet it was the ruling of the coroner and the police. Who had absolutely no idea that she'd never do such a thing, not in a million years. She didn't know where to start though. Sitting on the bench, she drew her knees up onto the bench and hugged them like she did when she was ten. She stared out at the parking lot, full of rich, clean and expensive cars but devoid of any people, who were all likely eating a the luncheon she knew was happening somewhere behind her. She sighed, and no-one heard her. She just didn't know what to do. |
| |
|
| |
Darkseeker
|
Shiloh had officially checked out. Whatever performance he'd been giving, the practiced smirk, the handshake grip, the knowing nods at hollow condolences, was dead in the water. Thankfully, Sutton had tapped out too. The younger Brooks looked about one pleasantry away from snapping and delivering a speech titled *Why You Should Stop Asking Me About My Future Unless You Want to Be Thrown Into a Punch Bowl.* Shiloh, sensing a potential Sutton Meltdown, caught his elbow mid-small talk with a woman who smelled like mothballs and money. He offered her a smooth, mumbled excuse (“family emergency”—not technically a lie), and tugged his brother away from the terrace. Sutton looked both mildly relieved and quietly pissed that Shiloh had played bodyguard. Typical. Shiloh pretended not to notice the brewing storm behind his brother’s eyes. He had bigger issues—namely, the fact that he was hot, hungry, and rapidly losing patience with his own funeral-day etiquette. He still wanted to go golfing, but now he was contemplating whether a meal first would be smarter. They couldn’t go home—the butler would absolutely tattle, and Evelyn would throw a champagne flute at the wall again. So: the club. Quiet, secluded, and the press had been getting blocked off by security lately. Not ideal, but manageable. They’d have to change at the clubhouse, of course, which was a minor social crime in their parents’ eyes, but who cared. They kept spare clothes in their lockers anyway. And golf felt like the least objectionable form of escapism available. He was mid-sprint through this plan in his head, dragging Sutton by the sleeve toward the parking lot, when he slammed his hip directly into a cast iron bench. He let out a loud, undignified “Ow—what the hell,” and took a step back, glaring at the offending piece of furniture like it had personally insulted him. That’s when he saw her. A girl sat on the bench, half-turned away, hair catching in the soft breeze. There was something familiar about her—not her face exactly, but the side profile. And then it clicked. She was in the background of half of Izzy’s old Instagram stories: beach bonfires, blurry birthday videos, study selfies with doodled-on hearts. She’d been one of Izzy’s people. One of the good ones, if his memory served. Shiloh's polite mode activated by default, even though he was still internally nursing his bench injury.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, stepping sideways to move past, and then stopped short. Her name wouldn’t come to him. He thought it might’ve started with an X or a Z—one of those Scrabble letters. That was going to bug him. But it didn’t matter. She was here, and clearly grieving, and that carried more weight than her name slipping his mind. Sutton tugged his sleeve, wordlessly reminding him they had a getaway vehicle waiting and a rapidly expiring window of plausible deniability. But Shiloh didn’t let go. No one wanted to hear “I’m sorry,” not really. Not from him. Not from someone who’d been MIA from Izzy’s life for years. So he went with honesty, the casual kind that slips out when you’re too lost to lie.
“She would’ve hated this whole thing,” he said, nodding toward the building behind them. “I don't remember her liking lilies.” |
| |
|
Fall Month: 3 
Day 
