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Valeria heard two pairs of footsteps approaching, and inwardly sighed. Her moment of soltitude had lasted long enough, she guessed, but... still. While it wasn't like she could do anything, she didn't want the moment to end. Invariably, it had to end. That didn't mean she wanted it to. Valeria put on her mental mask, ready to just smile and nod as they passed by-
and one of them hit the bench with a... well, there wasn't really a correct onomatopoeia to describe it. Somewhere between a crack and a thud. Whatever it was, Valeria winced but didn't turn around for a second. That must have hurt. The solid iron of the bench wasn't a nice material to hit, but it depended on who it was that Valeria would be somewhat fine with it or not. "Excuse me." Valeria let go of her knees and turned around to see who it was that had had the unfortunate mistake of hitting into the bench. Thought 1: There was someone with him. They looked the same, honestly, but the slightly taller one seemed to be the one who had the misfortune of hitting the bench.
Thought 2: Blone hair and blue eyes. As if that was a rarity around here.
Thought 3: He was rich.
Thought 4: But he'd shown some basic manners. Most people would have walked off without a word. Still stuck somewhere in between, she didn't exactly know how to reply to his apology for a second too long. "Excuse me." What was one meant to say to that? "... it's alright." She took a beat too long to reply, and by then, his - brother? - was tugging at his sleeve. Valeria took another moment to study them. Thought 5: They had the same eyes as Izzy. Wasn't that a thought. Were they... related? Izzy had mentioned cousins on a couple of occasions, but it wasn't like she was consisently invited to those things - and even then, like she really knew everyone there. She didn't. But that just brought more painful thoughts. "She hated lilies." Valeria chose to conform to his statement - not that it was wrong in the first place. "The flower of death, she told me. And their godawful stench." She looked away from them, glancing forward at the carpark before continuing, voice quieter at this point. "Maybe they chose it to hide the other smells, though." The smell of blood, and the smell of... something musky that even the lilies couldn't hide. How she'd died. "The smell of the stuff that took her life." Okay, why was she saying this? First up, they hadn't left - they'd stayed, and he'd said something beyond "excuse me" for a crime he didn't need to apologize for. But honestly, Valeria had just been caught off guard. Lost. She hadn't expeced anyone to be talking to her, let alone asking her about the funeral. And with no-one to say any of this to, what was the harm of saying it to someone she'd never see again? She was on a roll at this point, really. She'd already said more than she should... going through with it would do nothing. Her father's business contracts could go away, just this once. "I don't believe it was the way she would have chosen to go out, though. If she even had a choice." She was barely whispering now. "If it wasn't an accident." She looked straight a the floor as she said that. No doubt they'd think she was loony, and that they'd better leave now and forget everything she'd just said. Really, she expected them to. But at least she'd said it out loud, and stopped sitting on it. If only for a little bit. |
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Darkseeker
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Shiloh went quiet, and very, very still. The kind of stillness that came from pressure, not just from the weight of grief, but the pressure to not say the wrong thing. The official story was already out: an accidental overdose. Pills. Maybe laced with something, but something Izzy didn't know. Tragic, unexpected, but ultimately chalked up to “a struggle with anxiety,” Evelyn had whispered, her tone bordering on smug. Like she'd been proven right about something she never actually understood. Shiloh had left the room before she could finish. Sutton had followed. Neither of them had said a word, but it was clear they were both thinking the same thing: that wasn’t Izzy. That wasn’t how she lived. Now, standing in the warm aftershock of the service, Shiloh felt that same clench in his chest. A story too neat, too easy. Sutton cleared his throat behind him. Irritated. Always allergic to dragging things out. He shifted his weight from one polished shoe to the other, clearly itching to leave. Shiloh didn’t budge. Sutton mumbled, “I mean…the police ruled on it. Why would it be wrong?” But even he didn’t sound convinced. The words stumbled out, uncertain and soft, like he was trying to give the benefit of the doubt but couldn’t quite make himself believe it. Shiloh let go of his brother’s sleeve, freeing up his hand to mess with his cufflinks—something to do while he thought. He looked at the girl again, tilting his head slightly. “You were one of her friends, yeah?” he said, quieter now, with a note of caution. “I think I liked a post. Right before.” He tapped his phone pocket out of habit, even though he had no intention of pulling it out. “She looked…good in it. Like herself. Not like she was on something.” The implication hovered in the air like smoke. They all knew the world they lived in. Cameras, microphones, column inches written by people who’d never met her. He swallowed hard and glanced down the drive, as if it might offer him an escape. Nothing but sun-glared pavement and Sutton’s abandoned Range Rover. The memory hit him out of nowhere like a sharp inhale on a cold day.
That summer. He’d been seventeen. Sutton had been fifteen. It had been the last real family reunion they ever had, at their grandparents’ sprawling beach house in the Hamptons. Izzy was barefoot in a white sundress, dragging her feet through the sand, sculpting castles with her toes. The boys sat near her, awkward in their crisp linen sets, collars wilting in the heat. The first few hours were always like that: tense, quiet, trying to figure out who had changed the most. But then, Izzy had started talking about school—nerdy plans, electives she was excited for—and suddenly, the dam had broken. Shiloh launched into a story about his freshman year at Boston College, bringing up his best friend Byron, bragging about his short game on the course. Sutton, practically silent, had dropped a deadpan one-liner about someone named Atley that made all of them burst out laughing. Then they were a trio again, like nothing had changed. Swimming in their clothes. Strawberry daiquiris on the terrace. Playing poker with chocolate chips as the bets. And then a scream from inside the house. Izzy’s mother. Something had happened—though no one ever said what. By morning, Izzy was gone. They never had another reunion. Shiloh rubbed the back of his neck. “Well,” he said, offering the girl a shrug that didn’t quite fit his frame, “they’ve already ruled it. It’s pretty hard to dispute something like that, right?” Sutton, who had been unusually silent, finally spoke. His voice was low but steady, and it made both Shiloh and the girl look over. “It’s hard,” Sutton said. “But not impossible.” He glanced up, eyes sharp now, and continued with a quiet confidence, “If there’s real evidence? An autopsy re-examination. Toxicology. Witness statements. Chain of custody issues. A lot of rulings have been overturned. Especially when someone cared enough to push.” Shiloh blinked. That tone always surprised him, how Sutton could turn from barely-there to laser-focused in a heartbeat. Law school had made him sharper, sure, but this wasn’t just theory. He was considering it. He was already considering it. The girl stared at him like she didn’t quite believe what she was hearing—but there was hope there too, tentative and new. Shiloh looked between them, and suddenly, something he hadn’t felt in a while flickered behind his ribs. Maybe this didn't have to be Izzy's end. |
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Valeria was trying to place them too at the same time that they were doing the same for her. But they hadn't walked off like she was an idiot. The two of them had... actually considered what she'd said. More or less actually implying something - well, at least, the one who seemed older did. She wasn't as sure about the other one. Nonetheless... they'd not walked off. "I was her best friend since intermediate." Was. Past tense. "I trusted her to tell her anything, and I truly believed that she would have as well." Everything. She'd done the same, and he unspoken implication of what she meant lay underneath it. She would have told me anything that she was struggling with. Why wouldn't she have told me about this? She absolutely refused to look up. She didn't want her mask to crack, or anyone else to see something that they didn't need to see. This just wasn't the way it ended, how it was supposed to end. That was when the other guy - the younger one, or at least she thought - offered her a little spark of hope. Evidence. Toxicology. Statements. Things that couldn't be faked. Despite her initial refusal to look at them... she'd gone from feeling worse than hopeless to actually having some hope in her. This wasn't how it was supposed to end. She knew that, and looking up at the two of them with a dangerous crack in her mask showing her hope (and not really caring, if she was being honest) - there was no way this was the end. Hope. A fragile thing. Noun. A feeling of expectation for a particular thing to happen. "There was to be some way," she nodded in response to their statements, agreeing with them. Her voice was slightly stronger than earlier as she said that. She could actually... do something about it. There had to be more than it simply being an "accident", and as she studied them, she wondered how they knew all of this, and actually cared about it. ... they couldn't be the cousins that Izzy had mentioned once? She'd pressed before, and all she'd gotten were names and that her parents hadn't gone to see them for a while. Their names were... something starting with S? Perhaps? "I'm sorry - where are my manners. Are you - were you - " Were. Past tense, indicating it is gone. Something that tripped her up - she now had to use past tense for everything she said. It still felt wrong, gosh - even though her funeral had just happened. It tore a vast hole in her. Were. In a rare stumble, she fumbled her words for a second before regaining the speech-power to complete her sentence. "... were you... her cousins? I remember she might have mentioned you before." It was the only logical explanation in her head why they cared so much - and they had... the same sun-kissed blonde as her. The same. The. Exact. Same. Gods. That just reminded her of Izzy again. If they were related by blood... it would make sense. But even looking at them right now - it just reminded her. To be fair, most people in this rich-people's village (as she thought of it in her head) had blonde hair. She stook out no matter where she went, as the first-generation American green-card holder on her father's business ticket from Argentina into all the rich and fancy places that it took her. It included a lot of these places... but this type of blonde was distinctive. Izzy had it - so did these two boys. It was only at that point that she realized they were essentially talking what would have essentially been treason. To both of their families and the cameras watching, and a congregation of people nought but fifty meters away on the other side of the church. Her father's business contracts, like he'd always reminded her. Any mistake could be seen by someone else important, was what she'd derived from it. Whatever it was, she understood the implications of what they were saying. But right now? She had a tiny spark of hope. This wasn't the end. (edited 5/5 10pm GT to make the second half proper) |
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Were. Shiloh almost lost it at that word. Were you her cousins? Izzy was past tense now. She would never be anything else. No more is, are, will be. Only was, were, had been. That stupid little word had more finality than the coffin they’d just buried. He didn’t say anything, mostly because he didn’t trust his voice not to crack. Thankfully, Sutton, stoic, unshakable, golden-boy Sutton, took the whole thing in stride. His spine straightened, his voice smoothed out like the finest bolt of silk. “Yes,” he said crisply. “First cousins. On our mother’s side. That’s why she was a Whitney and we’re Brookses.” His tone was perfectly neutral. Like it was a cocktail party, not a funeral. Like he wasn’t still wearing the same tie he’d loosened in the church bathroom after nearly throwing up from the stress. That was the thing about Sutton. He could go from I'm going to scream, and deck you in the face to valedictorian of all your dreams in the span of a breath. Just snap, and he was the flawless son their parents paraded around like a trophy. No gold star required—he thrived on silence. On expectation. On pretending none of it touched him. Shiloh hated it. Hated that Sutton could act like it didn’t hurt. Hated that his little brother could be better at something. So, naturally, he cuffed him on the back of the head. “Shut up, Aubs,” he muttered, voice full of that brotherly affection that always sounded a little too close to mockery. Sutton shot him a look. Not angry, just deeply annoyed. The kind of look he used to give when Shiloh would rearrange his alphabetized bookshelf as a kid. Or when anyone dared to utter his middle name. Aubrey. It was elegant. Dainty. Not at all Sutton, which was exactly why Shiloh used it whenever he wanted to remind him he was still just a boy in his Sunday shoes. He realised that they hadn't introduced themselves. They never had to, either Evelyn already had, or they were so well known that people were already whispering their names when they walked in. Izzy had fit right in, of course. Tall, fair, all bouncing blonde curls and sea-glass eyes. You could line her up next to Evelyn and her own mother and they’d look like paper dolls from the same set. Their family was perfectly manufactured. Debutantes from birth. Magazine spreads waiting to happen. But this girl? She wasn’t cut from that cloth. She stood taller than Izzy had, in a way that wasn’t forcefully delicate, like she could carry her own grief and everyone else’s too. Not blonde, not white—her skin was warm-toned and smooth, like caramelized sugar, and her hair had a decadent kind of shine that made Shiloh’s stomach do a very stupid thing considering they were literally at a funeral. It reminded him of the fondue fountain he’d begged for at his fourteenth birthday. The one that had cost a fortune and made the whole ballroom smell like Swiss Miss for a week. The thought made him realize he was *starving*. All he’d eaten was a finger sandwich and every single word he'd wanted to yell at his mother. Trying to recover some dignity, he straightened up, smoothing his tie and flashing the polite, politician-in-training smile he’d worn since boarding school. “Aubs and I are heading to Bethpage,” he said smoothly, shifting back into casual arrogance like a favorite blazer. “Golf. Lunch. Some networking. Perhaps you’d like to join us?” He tossed it out like bait, like it was nothing. Just something you offered at a wake. “It won’t be just us, of course,” he added quickly. “Some of our friends—” “Elbow,” Sutton muttered darkly, driving it straight into Shiloh’s ribs before he could finish the sentence. They broke into low-level bickering, muttering insults and strategic counterpoints like kids arguing over who got the front seat. Sutton hissed something about Appearances, and the Family Name. Shiloh threatened to march them back onto the terrace and loudly mention Evelyn’s last Botox appointment in front of the reporters. In the end, Shiloh won. He always did, when it mattered. “Yes,” he said, recovering his poise like nothing had happened. “It’s got a lovely view of the course. Very secure. Press-free, even.” He paused. Then added, softer this time: “It’s what Izzy would've wanted.” |
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Valeria understood what he meant. We can talk freely. She didn't give a rat's ass about the golf - frankly, she'd never played it, and never really wanted to. Golf was for those with much money and much time, and while she did qualify for one, she didn't qualify for the other. These were the Brooks brothers though. She'd heard of them a couple of times, mostly in passing through the gossip grapevine - how one of them had apparently gotten a girlfriend at one point and whatnot. She could be girly when she wanted to, but then business training also showed her what in her life that she was told could be classified as bullshit and useless and what would not be. Right now she was wishing she'd listened more and not thought of other things instead. Not that Izzy was the best source of gossip, anyway, but... whatever. It would have been better to know what their freaking nams were beforehand. Now that she thought about it, though... Izzy had never mentioned the Brooks were her first cousins. She'd mentioned their first names, but... the one time Valeria had pressed, she'd brushed it off and moved on like she didn't want to talk about it. Valeria had never thought about it deeply. But now they were here... why did she just brush it off? The Brooks were a respectable name, and she'd never really talked to them but she'd known them. One of them was Sutton, she remembered, and... Shylock? Maybe? She decided not to push her luck and use a name she wasn't even sure that she was sure was right. Nonetheless, she could also see somehing in this too. She... wasn't alone in thinking that this "accident" felt too perfect. In fact, the two people who agreed with her - that she really needed to get the first names of - were arguing about... Valeria hadn't been following the hissed argument, honestly. But a secure, press-free environment where she didn't have to censor her words sounded great. It was on the other side of town - she'd been there maybe once, but she lived on the other side of the town anyway. Plus, there was one significantly closer by that most of the social events that she got invited to were held. That was when the older one mentioned Izzy and it tore yet another crack through her, shutting down half of her brain for a split second. Gosh, mentioning that "moving on" or whatever crap the counsellor and everyone else had shoveled her way hurt. And they couldn't be proven wrong by her best friend. Because she was dead and they were using her name to get her to jump through their hoops for her dead friend's name. Valeria's instinct the moment they'd mentioned her friend's name was to decline. No, this was not what she would have wanted. Even though I have no way of proving it because she's freaking dead. But she clamped down on that urge, hard, even as she looked away at the pavement again to try hide her flash of pain when he mentioned her best friend. It was an invitation to a golf club that she'd been to once or twice from the Brooks. Information and people who actually agreed that it just didn't seem right. If anything, Izzy would have wanted her to make sure that she didn't try tackle this case on her own, if she was to do it at all. "... fine." Her reply came out slightly more harsh than she intended it to be. Letting out a loose breath, she tempered her tone back into the realm of "reasonable" and neutralized her expression as if nothing had happened before attempting to speak again. Looking up at the two of them once more, she continued. "Yeah. Apologies. I mean, my schedule's free for the rest of the day." And my parents likely wouldn't blink an eye even if I came home stoned at four AM with a guy hanging off my arm. (Not that she'd ever tried.) They'd only care if I'd messed up their business contracts. "I'd be willing to go with you, although I haven't played golf before." Cue a rueful (and slightly forced) smile - not that she cared, but who knew about them? Even though she didn't care didn't mean they didn't. "Lunch sounds great, though. I don't think I've eaten since breakfast." She hadn't, and she absolutely did not care that she had missed the funeral luncheon - nor was she really that hungry. But it was an excuse to go with them, and she'd take it. Standing up, she brushed her skirt absently as she looked down at what she was wearing - as well as the other two. "Should we pop home and quickly get changed though? I mean..." she let that thought trail off. They were in funeral blacks, and even Izzy could tell that funeral blacks weren't appropriate clothes for golfing. Not that she was going to actually hit a single golf-ball, but it would still be slightly odd to turn up at the golf course in funeral blacks. Whatever. |
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Shiloh was genuinely surprised that the girl had agreed to lunch with them. It wasn’t exactly a neutral offer, not with the way tensions simmered between most of the families that lived in the upper echelons of their world. Old money families didn’t like the new money crowd, the new money families didn’t care, and everyone was always fighting over clients, social status, or whatever other petty drama they could cook up. Even something as simple as lunch could turn into a scandal if the wrong people found out, and decided to post about it. Still, here she was, saying yes, and Shiloh did his best to stay focused on the conversation. His polite smile never wavered, even as he tried to block out the restless energy radiating off his brother beside him. Sutton was, in many ways, the smartest person Shiloh knew—brilliant, sharp, and miles ahead of most people their age. But for all that genius, he was also a nineteen-year-old boy who seemed to be powered entirely by caffeine, anxiety, and whatever undiagnosed issues Shiloh was pretty sure were lurking under the surface. But that was Sutton’s problem, not his. Shiloh’s grin widened when the girl admitted she hadn’t played golf before. “That’s fine. Aubs and I are having some of our buddies meet us there, and not all of them are good at golf either,” he said, waving off her concern. Honestly, most of his friends were more interested in drinking and talking about sports and using golf as their off-season entertainment than actually being the best at it, despite their horribly competitive natures. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he glanced down, ready to lock in their plans when Valeria spoke up, mentioning that she needed somewhere to change. Shiloh’s face twisted slightly, caught off guard. “Right. Makes sense. I guess you wouldn’t have a change of clothes at the clubhouse.” He scratched at the back of his neck, a little unsure now. He hadn't planned on there being a monkey wrench thrown in their plans, and having an added individual who wasn't a regular at Bethpage could be a problem. “You’ve got a car here, right?” he asked, a touch of hope in his voice. The thought of trying to cram all of them into Sutton's Range Rover was less than ideal, especially with cameras practically lurking around every corner. “We can just meet you there. I don’t think it’d be a great idea for Aubs to drive us all. Y’know… cameras and everything. And my mother would definitely lose her mind if she saw pictures.” Once Valeria confirmed she’d come in her own car, Shiloh felt a flicker of relief. Okay, one problem solved. He nodded, doing a quick mental checklist, trying to stay two steps ahead. “Perfect. So, we’ll meet you there. Honestly, the others probably won’t show up right away anyway, everyone’s always so busy. Same old, same old.” He flashed her an easy grin, trying not to let the strain of spur of the moment planning get to him, or be as obvious as it felt. “Don’t stress about being late. By the time they actually decide to show up, we'll probably be halfway through the course," he said, not wanting to scare her off at the thought of playing a sport with a bunch of other rich kids. "They're really nice too," he said, after a very brief pause. "I swear. Oh. And if you're not a member...? Sutton and I can put your name on the temporary guest list and they'll let you in." |
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No, she was not a regular client at the preferred golf course that the uber-rich Brooks went to. What a suprize. Yet to them, it actually had seemed to be a suprize. Which... to her wasn't somehing she'd expected. Did they honestly expect her to have a change of clothes at the golf course? After a moment of slight disbelief, she quickly moved on. Old money kids. This was why Izzy had been so special - she hadn't flexed it like that. Her life hadn't revolved around the money her great-great-grandparents or whatnot had gotten and had been passing down. She should have been used to this kind of thing, no? Nonetheless, she let a slightly playful smile touch her lips as she heard about them not being good at golf. "I could probably have a shot at winning if you made a competition on who's worst. I'm in, though, just as long as you don't laugh too hard when I miss the ball and whack someone instead." There. It successfully took her mind off the hurt, at least for a little bit, and she perched on the armrest of the bench as a makeshift seat as Shiloh continued, oblivious to her true thoughts. Mainly because it gave her something to do, not much beyond that though. She nodded in response to Shiloh's quesiton about her car. "Yeah. It's over in the carpark-" she gestured witth her hand briefly before looking back at him, "- and I'd rather not leave it here for the afternoon." No, in fact, she probably wasn't coming back here ever. It would bring back the horrible memory of this funeral and the lilies trying and failing to hide the stench of what allegedly killed her. "I can probably make my own way there. It's not that bad." Read: she'd use Google Maps and get directions there because she honestly didn't have any idea how to get there. But even then, Shiloh had a valid point - her father would have encouraged this rubbing of shoulders with the richest in town (and the Brooks definitely qualified), but having it blown open to the whole world? Personally, that was a very big no on her side. While Shiloh may have read the fact that the people they'd invite would be late as heck and that she shouldn't worry about playing with a bunch of rich kids, Val read it completely differently, though. Val knew from past experiences watching other people playing golf that it took a long time to complete. Wasn't it like... four hours or so? Whatever the number was, it was quite some time. Valeria read his statement as "we'll have two hours or so to talk before others start showing up". Talk about over-reading things in speech. She wasn't that concerned about having to talk to others, nor was she enirely concerned about the golf course entry, but since Shiloh had raised it... "I see. Well, I trust that you'll do it." She didn't really, but it was the thought that counted. Standing back up, she continued. "Where should I meet you? And what'd be a good time?" Bottom line, though, she still needed to change and get out of her black funeral dress. She wasn't turning up wearing this. Alhough apparently the two of them were. Only, they'd then change into clothes they'd stored at the golf course. Even she didn't do that. In any case, she'd be getting more information. And talking to the people who actually agreed with her theory, no matter how far-fetched it seemed to be. Which still got her back to her original point... this wasn't the end. |
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Shiloh wrapped up the last of the plans with a final confirmation: yes, they’d meet her there, yes, they’d be heading straight over, and yes, she could arrive whenever she wanted. Meanwhile, Sutton was absolutely no help whatsoever, offering little more than the occasional sarcastic comment and a general air of uncaring aloofness. But somehow, they managed to sort everything out, and the brothers trudged the last few yards to their Range Rover, immediately launching into a heated debate over who got to drive. It was a fight as old as time, or at least as old as Sutton's full license, and after a brief but vicious scuffle, Shiloh was banished to the passenger seat, loudly voicing his grievances the entire way. Flopping dramatically into the seat, Shiloh didn’t even bother setting up directions. They didn’t need them. Bethpage was practically home turf, the course they’d grown up on, the one they knew like the back of their hands. Not that the GPS would’ve been any help anyway, since it had a knack for directing them straight through every possible construction zone in the whole damn state. The course was technically an invite-only, members-only sort of place, but the Brooks name opened doors. Shiloh was almost positive they could get Valeria in without an issue. His phone buzzed in his hand, and he glanced down with a scowl. Sutton’s friends. It was always Sutton’s friends. Shiloh briefly considered shoving his brother—he’d earned it, really—but figured that shoving the driver was probably frowned upon in most circles. “Penn’s gonna be late. He has to pick up his sister first,” Shiloh grumbled, squinting at his screen. “Caulfield’s only making it for lunch—some charity thing. Will’s probably tagging along with him. And your boyfriend—oh, sorry, your best friend—will be right on time, as always. How’s his hockey career going, by the way?” That kicked off the usual back-and-forth, with Shiloh loudly insisting that Sutton and Atley were obviously in love, and Sutton muttering his exasperated defense—that they were just very good friends. It was the same argument they’d had a hundred times before, so well-worn it might as well have been scripted. But even the most vicious teasing faded as they pulled into Bethpage. It was a place where rivalry didn’t matter, not out in the sun. The second they saw the perfectly manicured greens, the familiar sprawl of the course, they were competitors. No one was more competitive than the Brooks brothers when it came to golf, and both of them had spent years sharpening their skills. Shiloh practically bounced out of the car, wasting no time checking in at the front desk. He made sure Valeria’s name was on his temporary guest list, leaning against the counter with the confidence of someone who’d been doing this his whole life, even though he had no idea if it was allowed. Once that was squared away, they ducked into the back rooms of the clubhouse to change. Shiloh wrinkled his nose the second he saw his own clothes waiting for him. There was a reason they stayed here instead of coming home—the linen shorts were a little too salmon-pink for his taste, but with the sun climbing higher in the sky, he had to admit they were going to be a lifesaver. Reluctantly, he pulled them on, trying to convince himself he didn’t look like a walking tropical cocktail. (He sort of did.) Sutton, on the other hand, looked absurdly good, because of course he did. When did Sutton not look like a baby lawyer? His wardrobe here was leagues better than Shiloh’s, and despite a flurry of begging, threatening, and outright yelling, Sutton refused to trade anything. With a scowl on his face and a irritated sigh, Shiloh trailed after his younger brother, already planning his revenge. But whatever venom he’d been cooking up evaporated the second they stepped back into the main hall, because Atley was waiting for them. And of course, Atley looked literally perfect: majestic, almost annoyingly so, in his not-salmon-colored shorts, which Shiloh definitely wasn't jealous of. Golden tan, windswept hair, and an easy, self-assured grin that had Shiloh wanting to either roll his eyes or drop dead or slug the boy in the face, he wasn’t sure which. But if Shiloh had one superpower, it was bouncing back. Within seconds, he was leaning in, a wicked grin spreading across his face as they grabbed their clubs and ball bins. “Oh, look at you two,” he sing-songed, nudging Atley with his shoulder. “Lovebirds reunited on the green. God, the tension is palpable.” Atley just snorted, giving Shiloh a shove that was probably meant to be playful but nearly sent him stumbling. The boy seemed to forget that he was a six two wall of muscle that literally played NHL prep stuff. Sutton muttered something about Shiloh being a pest, but the slight pink at the tips of his ears was more than enough confirmation that Shiloh possibly did have a point, and conversation started to move easy again. |
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Back in her car, Valeria had a moment to herself once again, and a quick reality check showed, essentially, partly "what the hell was she thinking" and "what a great plan". She was going to a golf course. With the Brooks brothers - which, if her memory served her right, was one of the most influential families in the town. And she'd have to use her nonexistent golf skills (?) to somehow play the game with 'friends' watching while she also discussed things with the two of them. Well, wasn't that great. Backing out of the lot, and pushing her car into gear slightly moroe forcefully than she would on a normal day (not that today was normal anyway), she turned right onto the road and quietly thought to herself what the hell was she doing - and what was she going to do next. Truth be told, this association with the Brooks - Shiloh and Sutton - was either a brilliant move or a completely stupid one. She'd have to hold judgement on that later, because right now? She had absolutely no freaking clue. She just hoped it turned out to be the former and not the latter. Nonetheless, it was a good distraction. Distractions in her life were good these days, filling it with stuff to do after... she lost her best friend. Even though this certain "distraction" involved certain influential people and likely something that she shouldn't have acted upon in the first place. Well, who cared? That wasn't a good question to ask, as some people (her father) would likely most definitely care. He didn't need to know any of these activites, though... Arriving home, she parked her car on the side of the road before, without hurrying too much, let herself in through the fingerprinted lock. Welcome Home, the doormat read. It wasn't really much of a home. Too big for the few people that lived in it, it was still dead silent like it was most of the time, what with her parents at work all the time. It didn't faze her, though - she'd gotten used to it. Far too used to it, really - it happened too often. She wasn't here for long though. Sweeping up the stairs in her long black skirt, she didn't encounter a problem until it came to her wardrobe. What, in the name of all that was holy, was she supposed to wear? It wasn't like those days where some of the snobby idiot girls would squal, "I don't know what to wear!" when they were invited to a party when they definitely had something in mind. Valeria had never been golfing - she'd been to the golf course before, but she hadn't golfed - and it wasn't like she'd ever needed to golf before. Yet, from hat Shiloh had said, apparently she did need to this time. Think. Her wardrobe was rather large, that was true, but then it wouldn't be much use if it didn't have what she needed. Stuff like... she had absolutely no idea. Think. What had she seen other people wear when she was at the golf course waching other people golf? Aside from the guys wearing the polo shirt, and... more polo. In all honesty, she'd mainly only ever seen guys at the golf course, and the women weren't golfing. Think. Frozen at the doorframe of her wardrobe, looking blankly at the clothes that she had, she thought back further. Had she ever seen a woman golfing before? In fact, she had. They were wearing... a standard polo. Only female. So, golf clothes. Well, wasn't she an idiot. In her defense, she'd never actually gone golfing before, but she quickly changed out of her funeral blacks and into the closest approximation of what she thought would work. Read - what she thought. She was honestly still guessing. A mid-thigh length black skirt she vaguely remembered being advertised as a "golf skirt". A short-sleeved polo that she somehow managed to find in heer clothes. And a soft-shelled light grey long-sleeved jacket that should have qualified to fit well enough to not be baggy or restrict movement but enough such that one couldn't really see her shirt, because the last thing she wanted to do was get criticized for her fashion choices. Well, it wasn't like she went golfing on a regular basis. So give her a break, okay? Bundling up her dirty clothes and pushing them into the basket for the cleaner to wash later whenever they arrived (and they were always late), she slid her feet into some passable heel-less shoes and stepped back out. --- "Your destination is on the left. Doo-doo-doo." Yes, she may have had to use Google Maps to get to this godforsaken golf course, partly because she'd never been here and partly because how was she meant to know it was here? In the parking lot, however, she ttook one final moment in her car to compose herself one final time. Partly because it likely had been over half an hour since the Brooks had gotten here - she'd taken that long, apparently - but partly so no-one would ever, or could ever, see what she truly felt. Her father's business contracts. Even doing something like this, her father still wouldn't care until it started affecting the family business. The only trick was to make sure it didn't affect them, so her parents wouldn't care. Getting out and slamming the car door shut, she walked into the reception and honestly... was a bit suprized by what she saw. Really, she'd thought the golf course closer to her house was nice and opulent and whatnot. This was... on the next level, almost. She could definitely see why all the uber-rich and uber-fancy people chose here instead of the golf course on the other side of town. Well, the golf course that she'd been to was still fit for the uber-rich and uber-fancy. But then she could definitely see why more of them chose here, even as she recovered from a brief moment of being taken back and walked up to the reception like she knew exactly what she was doing. That was another thing that she'd been taught, and hadn't come naturally to her like a significant majority of people living in this town. Most of them had walked with an entitled look, if there even was such a thing - it was invented here. An entitled walk. Born with that knowledge. She'd been taught it. "Good afternoon." The receptionist, slightly shorter than her, looked up a her as Valeria chose to look at a map of the golf course instead. "How may I help you?" "My name's Valeria. I believe I've been added as a guest for the Brooks?" She kept her tone polite and cultured, even as she looked at the receptionist. Really, she didn't even know how it worked, nor if she was allowed to do it like this. Nor did she really know if Shiloh had even added her, or had gone straight past it, too intent on... golfing. Actually golfing at a golf course, unlike what she did when she usually came to these sorts of places. Apparently, however, it did work, and quite quickly, without any need for identity verification, apparently, she was pointed through an automatic door and found herself outside on the green. The question was, now how was she meant to find the boys? She'd seen from the map that it wasn't really like she'd walk the entire course to try find them. At the same time, she couldn't exactly just take a golf cart and book it. Partly because then she'd also have to drive it back later, and partly because the golf cart attendant wasn't there. Well, that was useful. Walk it was, then. She only hoped they hadn't gotten too far. |
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Darkseeker
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The game was going perfectly. For Shiloh, at least. The sun was high, the air was clear, and he was riding the smug satisfaction of absolutely wrecking his brother on the course. Sutton’s game was off—like, noticeably off. He kept slicing his shots, letting them veer pathetically towards the trees, and Shiloh made sure to chirp at him for every single miss. “Oh, nice one, Aubs,” he called, watching his brother’s ball careen wildly into a sand trap. “Real bold move, aiming for the hazards. I didn’t know we were practicing your beach game.” Sutton shot him a look, but the corners of his mouth twitched, a reluctant smile threatening. Shiloh had already teed off with a near-perfect shot that just felt like victory. Sutton had even whistled, envy clear in his tone. “That’s what it looks like when you don’t aim for the sand traps,” Shiloh had snarked, bumping his brother’s hip with an easy, familiar affection. He wasn’t even hiding his good mood. And why would he? The day was practically perfect. He had a martini in hand—he was pretty sure he hadn’t paid for it, but that wasn’t really his problem—and he’d just convinced Atley to get them backstage passes to the upcoming hockey game he was playing in. Penn and his sister Margeaux were on their way, and would probably need a solid ten minutes to mentally prepare for the absolute disaster that was Sutton and Atley flirting. As for Caulfield...well, he hadn’t even left his house yet. Super classy. Shiloh leaned against the golf cart, phone in one hand, refreshing the group chat. No messages yet. Typical. His fingers idly tugged at the hem of his ridiculous salmon shorts, still incredibly bothered by them. They were too bright, too loud, and paired with his crisp white polo, they gave off an infuriatingly unstylish vibe. But they were also Ralph Lauren, so whatever. He was too pretty to care. Atley was up next, and Shiloh’s lighthearted gloating took a hit the second he heard the boy whoop. Shiloh glanced up just in time to watch Atley’s ball sail neatly across the green, landing delicately on the putting area. A perfect shot. “Oh, for—” Shiloh grumbled, a playful scowl darkening his face. He swore Atley wasn’t even trying that hard, just casually showing off for Sutton, who looked almost painfully unimpressed, even as his gaze kept flicking back to Atley when he thought no one was watching. *Disgustingly in denial,* Shiloh thought with a huff, rolling his eyes. His gaze drifted, and that’s when he noticed Valeria wandering down the cart path. Instantly, Shiloh straightened, a bright smile breaking across his face as he waved her over. “Hey!” he called, moving away from the group to meet her partway. “You made it. Hopefully, you don’t mind watching people be disgustingly in denial. Atley’s nice, you’ll love him. You like hockey? Because you kind of have to if you hang around him for more than five minutes. Penn’s holding a table, and I told him to make sure we had good drinks. He’s probably stress-ordering appetizers as we speak. Margeaux’s with him. God help us if Caulfield actually decides to show.” “Oh, and I'm winning,” Shiloh lied without a hint of shame, flashing a grin. “Sutton’s in the process of trying to lose his will to live, and Atley is showing off because it’s literally the only thing he knows how to do besides play hockey.” He reached out, snagging her hand and tugging her gently towards the course. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone. You can help me keep Aubs from dying of embarrassment, and maybe distract Atley so he finally misses a shot. A team effort.” As they approached, he caught Sutton’s gaze, and his brother’s expression softened just a fraction. Atley, already lining up another perfect shot, barely glanced over, but his smile widened just a little. Disgustingly in denial, the both of them. But Shiloh wasn’t going to let that ruin his mood. Not when everything else was this close to perfect. |
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Spring Month: 2 
Night 
Flood Moon: 
