This looks really interesting - I think I might have a character that'll fit into this RP. I'll take a look at it when I get a bit of free time over the weekend.
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Mixtape Ghost N
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Abigail wasn’t really listening to the weather anymore, she was too busy devouring cocoa puffs at a breakneck pace, to the point where she burnt her tongue from the hot milk. The only thing that brought her out of her feeding frenzy was her phone vibrating with Ashton’s reply. Abigail gave it a cursory glance, then looked back at her food, then back to the phone, and then back at her food.
With a grunt, Abigail dropped her spoon with a clatter and grabbed the bowl with both hands, chugging down the remnants of her breakfast. She wiped her mouth on her knuckles and then snatched up her phone just as it went off again with Veronica’s response. Luckily, Abigail knew precisely how to reply and it took her two seconds, one for each text.
To: V
K
To: Ash
K
Whilst Abigail speculated over what might’ve gone on in Main Street, she didn’t get her hopes up. Nothing ever happened in Verona, which annoyed her to no end. Ashton’s definition of ‘a mess’ may be nothing more than a busted water pipe from the ice; Veronica’s excitement piqued Abigail’s curiosity enough to get off the couch and start washing up her dishes.
Years of extremely limited bathroom time and a constant queue of pissed off teenagers meant that Abigail’s morning routine was lightning fast. The moment she tossed the dishtowel haphazardly on top of the nearest work surface, she felt the last vestiges of drowsiness ebb away, replaced with her default - a fuckton of energy. Rolling her shoulders, Abigail took the steps two at a time. She brushed her teeth in the shower, dried her hair on the toilet. Two quick brush strokes of mascara and a few flailing movements with a comb later, Abigail winked at herself in the foggy glass of the mirror and skipped down the corridor to her bedroom.
Several minutes later, Abigail was stuffing her keys into the pocket of her jacket and triple-checking the lock on the front door. She frowned at the empty driveway as her boots skidded dangerously on the icy path down to the street, and her breath came out in misty clouds. It was a painfully bright Sunday afternoon in Verona, and it was just as empty and clean in her neighbourhood as it has always been. Abigail was just happy to get out of the house after being bed-bound for several days...she heard that whatever it was that took her out had also affected Ashton and Veronica, which gave Abigail a sense of grim satisfaction. Her feet took her across the gritted roads and past the suburbs and gas stations until she knew she was approaching Main Street, and then she saw the cop car.
Abigail’s face dropped into a grumpy scowl. She wanted nothing to do with the Sheriff this morning, but she had to walk right past him and the deputy to get to her friends. She focused on keeping her head down, her shoulders pushed inwards a little - anything to get past without being noticed. After all, she had plenty of experience doing the ‘don’t-approach-me-i’m-pissed’ walk back home and it certainly had its benefits in Verona, where everyone knew everyone and wouldn’t leave anyone alone.
Today it failed spectacularly when Abigail was immediately struck with a very weird sensation. It was as if she dunked her head underwater whilst the whole world shifted a few steps to the left, making her pause. She could feel the blood pulsing in her ears, and there was a weird pressure on her temples. Abigail took a couple of breaths and kept walking, deliberately avoiding Brooks’ gaze and pretending nothing weird just happened. In fact, she was so good at her ‘leave-me-alone’ walk that some of the townsfolk, like the little old lady who seemed determined to convince Abigail to go to Church, also completely ignored her. Everyone just kept on sweeping, and Abigail dodged and wove through the crowds until a lanky latino boy questioning one of the shop owners slipped into view.
Abigail’s face lit up, and she felt her weird headache subside almost instantaneously as she made her way across the street towards Ashton. Several heads whipped around to her direction with a look of surprise; unbeknownst to Abigail herself, she seemingly popped out of nowhere with a snarky grin and mischievous intentions. She climbed through the window frame, twisting to avoid the window display on her way in.
“You shouldn’t be here y’know,” Abigail remarked slyly, “Mixed race kid wearing poor-people clothes in the middle of Verona’s biggest vandalism case? Might as well climb into the Sheriff’s car. Nah, nah, I’m kidding. Whole fuckin’ town knows you’re too much of a nerd to do something like this…” Abigail was either unaware she interrupted something or she just didn’t care. Based on the way she sat down on the counter of the shop, it was probably the latter. “...Who works on a Sunday anyway?”
Abigail glanced over at her friend and rolled her hand dismissively, shutting up long enough for Ashton to finish his interview. She pulled out her flip-phone from her pocket and worked her way through a longer text message as she waited.
To: V
FOUND ASH. TACKY SOUVENIR SHOP MAIN ST. HELP ME ANNOY HIM.
Abigail snapped her phone shut again and grinned at Ashton. She took a look around at the shards of glass whilst her lip curled up into a sneer. “Man, either Verona’s got a team of exceptionally dumb, angry kids or one incredibly determined psychopath.” She held her hands up innocently, smiling. “I couldn’t manage this much chaos on my own, so that’s me out of the suspect list. Where we going next, mister Journalist?”
The house was empty when Abigail got up. She didn’t mind; her hair was a mess and she looked like a wreck...the illness had knocked a bit out of her and she found herself sleeping in more as her body recovered. She rolled onto her stomach as one hand groped by the bedside table to grab a metallic pink flip phone charging by her pillow. Abigail squinted at the square of bright light as she checked the time, snapped the phone shut and lurched upwards onto her feet.
She slammed two feet into a grubby pair of slippers and shuffled along the cold floorboards of the hallway, pausing briefly at the open doorway to another bedroom to squint inside. “You in there?” she croaked out, hardly expecting an answer. “Listen, I-...” she started, before turning away from the gloomy confines of the bedroom. “Forget it.” Abigail made her way to the landing and stomped downstairs, clicking open the front door just a little. She immediately regretted her decision as an icy draft billowed through her baggy t-shirt, and the sunlight hurt her eyes. Nevertheless, she dully noticed the lack of police car out on the driveway. With a derisive snort, Abigail shut the front door again and turned the lock with a satisfying clunk.
The house felt too big. It always felt too big to Abigail, she wondered if that feeling would subside during her stay but she couldn’t quite shake it off. It was the vast, empty quiet and the pale wallpaper, her footfalls echoing off the oak floorboards and the large open windows where she could catch glimpses of frost and pine trees. The endless wilderness of Verona was a bit off-putting first thing in the morning, and those moments she had, drowsy and isolated from society, were enough to casually remind her that she wasn’t home and wouldn’t be home for a while.Abigail sighed through her nostrils and pushed a couple of buttons on the digital radio in the kitchen.
By far the best device Abigail had seen ever, the modern radio used some sort of music streaming account on the internet to play a bunch of playlists. Within moments, Al Green’s smooth voice was echoing across the hallways. It made the house seem smaller. Abigail smiled to herself and grabbed the new of cocoa puffs, her smile widening when she noticed a cheap plastic toy sitting in her bowl. Whilst she microwaved a mug of milk, Abigail jogged back to her room to grab a jacket and her phone.
Technology was still a bit of a confusing concept to get her head around. Abigail shamelessly owned a crappy nokia flip-phone instead of something a bit more modern, and it wasn’t even a personal preference; these things were much harder to trace back. She got it as a gift, as she had with almost all her belongings. And Abigail was a little proud that she was probably the only eighteen year old who couldn’t care less for texting. In the very beginning everything she wrote was in full sentences, which eventually settled down to the shortest possible messages - most of which were simply times and places to meet up, nothing else. Abigail clicked through her contacts as she poured hot milk into her cocoa puffs and wandered to the living room.
Ah...here we go. She selected a contact called “V”.
WHERE U AT
Short, simple, poetic. Abigail went back to her contacts and pressed on “Ash”.
BORED LETS MEET
Abigail put her phone down. She helped herself to cocoa puffs and watched the weather forecast rattling on about the big, scary superstorm everyone wouldn’t shut up about on the TV.
@StitchesMy Char is a regular artist at the Gallery, but he's not very social.
I don't usually sort out relationships with people who haven't been accepted, but looking at the personality it looks like Abigail would probably ignore James. She doesn't have a lot of patience for people who aren't looking to be friends with her, because she can be a bit of a handful. Either way, they'd be acquaintance-friends at best.
I think, in terms of relationships, Abigail will be somewhat friendly with most of the people her age - bar a couple of exceptions. I don't think she likes Billy at all, and I'm not too sure she's all that keen on Aaliya either. So @DeadBeatWalking and @Aewin just giving you both a heads-up - Abigail's probably insulted your character in the past couple of years and when she doesn't like someone, it shows. Keep that in mind for the IC.
Since this is a small town and there aren't too many teenagers to go around, Abigail has probably AT LEAST introduced herself to anyone in the 17-19 age range. If they hang out a lot in New Town - specifically the Gallery - then Abigail's probably been friendly towards them, but not too close. I've only seen a couple people thus far who Abigail might properly take to, and I'm about to PM them both now.
Since this is a small town and there aren't too many teenagers to go around, Abigail has probably AT LEAST introduced herself to anyone in the 17-19 age range. If they hang out a lot in New Town - specifically the Gallery - then Abigail's probably been friendly towards them, but not too close. I've only seen a couple people thus far who Abigail might properly take to, and I'm about to PM them both now.
Abigail immediately pushed the wasteland omelet towards Brooks as she tore open the box of snack cakes. In a precise, fluid and well-practiced movement, she scooped three cakes into her little fist and jammed all of them into her mouth at once. Her cheeks bulged with stale sponge and irradiated sugar as her broad smile could barely contain the food behind it, chewing away in silence whilst she happily swung her legs back and forth on the chair. She never took her eyes off Brooks however, and idly scratched at her elbow whilst his stony gaze seemed fixated on the hallway where their target wandered off.
Brooks forked at the omelet, not really hungry as his eyes remained on the table the sharp dressed man had gotten off of. Some time passed and the man returned back to his seat, he could see the vault-girl talk to him but not really make out any word. With the omelet half-eaten, Brooks stood himself up with a groan, placing his fork on the plate. Along with Abigail, the two made their leisurely way towards the fine-suited man and vault-girls table.
Brooks slapped a friendly hand on the man’s shoulder as he neared the table, pulling close a nearby chair and seating himself by the table in between the already seated. Abigail also dragged a chair from a nearby table and twirled it around, sitting on it backwards as she rested her head on her hands and smirked.
Lowering his tone so none aside the seated could hear, Brooks said “You must be the fine fella’ Donna’ hired. Now I don’t know what your job is, nore do I need to know. However the lady’s gettin’ impatient so i’m gonna’ need to go back knowin’ what the status on that is.” he’d remain impassive as he spoke, eyes briefly flicking down at the patch of red staining the man’s shirt.
Abigail let Brooks do his thing. She knew he could handle himself, and since she hardly seemed intimidating there was no point trying to coerce anyone. Instead, she rather curiously watched the vault girl fix some sort of complicated weaponry on the desk. Her wrist disappeared into her own box of snack cakes as she nodded towards the machinery, rather innocuously asking “Whatcha doing over there, vaultie?”
Brooks forked at the omelet, not really hungry as his eyes remained on the table the sharp dressed man had gotten off of. Some time passed and the man returned back to his seat, he could see the vault-girl talk to him but not really make out any word. With the omelet half-eaten, Brooks stood himself up with a groan, placing his fork on the plate. Along with Abigail, the two made their leisurely way towards the fine-suited man and vault-girls table.
Brooks slapped a friendly hand on the man’s shoulder as he neared the table, pulling close a nearby chair and seating himself by the table in between the already seated. Abigail also dragged a chair from a nearby table and twirled it around, sitting on it backwards as she rested her head on her hands and smirked.
Lowering his tone so none aside the seated could hear, Brooks said “You must be the fine fella’ Donna’ hired. Now I don’t know what your job is, nore do I need to know. However the lady’s gettin’ impatient so i’m gonna’ need to go back knowin’ what the status on that is.” he’d remain impassive as he spoke, eyes briefly flicking down at the patch of red staining the man’s shirt.
Abigail let Brooks do his thing. She knew he could handle himself, and since she hardly seemed intimidating there was no point trying to coerce anyone. Instead, she rather curiously watched the vault girl fix some sort of complicated weaponry on the desk. Her wrist disappeared into her own box of snack cakes as she nodded towards the machinery, rather innocuously asking “Whatcha doing over there, vaultie?”
“I’ll take it. Brooks Moreland, for reference sake.” he replied, offering the man a nod as he pushed himself away from the bar, picking up his hat off the counter. “Hop along- and leave the bottle opener,” he scowled down at Abigail. Abigail grumbled as she fished the bottle opener out of her pocket and slammed it onto the bar, kicking her legs out to swing off the barstool and follow Brooks out of the casino.
The streets outside had finally begun to busy themselves as the two stepped out, Brooks placed his hat back atop his head, voicing down to Abigail, “We taking bets on where this guys holed up?”
Abigail shrugged her shoulders, still idly holding onto Brooks’ coat. “I mean, we better take a look at the Imperial first, but I’d rather not go in until we’ve scouted the surrounding area out. Who knows what weird shit that guy’s been paid to do, and if it’s a casino, walking in and out every few minutes will just annoy the bodyguards.” She took an inquisitive look at all of the dusty, half-awake thugs stumbling around the streets of New Reno hopefully. “Besides, with your keen eyes and his ‘propa’ appearance, he’ll stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this.”
“A yes or no would have been enough,” he stared her down.
“Hey, I thought it’d be a bit more useful than a bible verse about gambling,” replied Abigail smoothly. She grinned up at him.
Brooks grumbled, “Alright. Imperial it is.” And with that the two set off to the Imperial. Lavish and sophisticated, it set itself apart from the other casinos in terms of décor but is clearly dwarfed by the size and majesty of the Shark Club. Brooks squinted at the derelict building, heavily adorned with lights and decorations to accompany the big sign. Like the Shark Club, there were two bulky men stationed outside the main door who squinted back at him.
Abigail yawned as she was patted down, rolling her eyes as her bodyguard got a bit more rough than he should’ve been. Luckily they didn’t seem to care enough to ask questions about her age and weren’t smart enough to give her a thorough check; she doubted either of them would find the little things she kept concealed on her person. It was routine practice - Abigail vaguely remembered a time where she used to smuggle chems through the streets before she fell too deep into her own addiction. It was one of her few useful qualities and Brooks made good use of it; he liked to keep a weapon on him at all times, even when some dim-witted guy in a dusty suit took his guns and knife at the door.
Things in the Imperial weren’t quite as shiny at they were at the Shark Club, but Brooks idly tapped Abigail’s wrist when she reached out for a fork on one of the tables. She made a few hostile grumbles before rather violently and deliberately shoving both hands in her pockets, glowering down at the floor instead of looking for the man they were meant to be searching for.
Rolling his eyes at Abigail’s little act, Brooks briefly spotted the exact girl, still clad in her vault overall, sat at a table across a sharply dressed man. Curiously narrowing his eyes, Brooks lifts a beckoning finger to one of the waiters, his elbow bumping into the grumpy Abigail. “Look who it is.”
Abigail didn’t even seem to care that much when she idly glanced up and spotted the target, shrugging her shoulders. Her tone of voice was nonchalant, but the words carried a different meaning, “You’re terrible at the whole ‘spying’ thing, you know that right? Are we getting something to eat?” Abigail grabbed a menu without bothering to ask Brooks, settling into one of the worn chairs. The moment the waiter arrived, she cheerily asked for “One Wasteland omelet and a box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes, please!” knowing full well that she picked two of the most expensive things on the menu. She leant back against the chair contentedly, flashing another one of her cheeky grins at Brooks. “Wonder what they’re talking about,” she commented placidly.
Brooks stared at Abigail, knowing she ordered the most expensive batch out of menu out of some form of spite. “Water for me, please.” he’d nod dismissively as the waiter walked off to get their orders. Shifting his gaze back onto the couple sat ahead of them, Brooks ignored Abigail's question as he lightly shifted in his seat as the well dressed man seemingly stood up to hurry off to something. “That’s gotta’ be him, mhrm.” he settled himself back into a slouched back state in his chair, patiently waiting for the man’s return.
The streets outside had finally begun to busy themselves as the two stepped out, Brooks placed his hat back atop his head, voicing down to Abigail, “We taking bets on where this guys holed up?”
Abigail shrugged her shoulders, still idly holding onto Brooks’ coat. “I mean, we better take a look at the Imperial first, but I’d rather not go in until we’ve scouted the surrounding area out. Who knows what weird shit that guy’s been paid to do, and if it’s a casino, walking in and out every few minutes will just annoy the bodyguards.” She took an inquisitive look at all of the dusty, half-awake thugs stumbling around the streets of New Reno hopefully. “Besides, with your keen eyes and his ‘propa’ appearance, he’ll stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this.”
“A yes or no would have been enough,” he stared her down.
“Hey, I thought it’d be a bit more useful than a bible verse about gambling,” replied Abigail smoothly. She grinned up at him.
Brooks grumbled, “Alright. Imperial it is.” And with that the two set off to the Imperial. Lavish and sophisticated, it set itself apart from the other casinos in terms of décor but is clearly dwarfed by the size and majesty of the Shark Club. Brooks squinted at the derelict building, heavily adorned with lights and decorations to accompany the big sign. Like the Shark Club, there were two bulky men stationed outside the main door who squinted back at him.
Abigail yawned as she was patted down, rolling her eyes as her bodyguard got a bit more rough than he should’ve been. Luckily they didn’t seem to care enough to ask questions about her age and weren’t smart enough to give her a thorough check; she doubted either of them would find the little things she kept concealed on her person. It was routine practice - Abigail vaguely remembered a time where she used to smuggle chems through the streets before she fell too deep into her own addiction. It was one of her few useful qualities and Brooks made good use of it; he liked to keep a weapon on him at all times, even when some dim-witted guy in a dusty suit took his guns and knife at the door.
Things in the Imperial weren’t quite as shiny at they were at the Shark Club, but Brooks idly tapped Abigail’s wrist when she reached out for a fork on one of the tables. She made a few hostile grumbles before rather violently and deliberately shoving both hands in her pockets, glowering down at the floor instead of looking for the man they were meant to be searching for.
Rolling his eyes at Abigail’s little act, Brooks briefly spotted the exact girl, still clad in her vault overall, sat at a table across a sharply dressed man. Curiously narrowing his eyes, Brooks lifts a beckoning finger to one of the waiters, his elbow bumping into the grumpy Abigail. “Look who it is.”
Abigail didn’t even seem to care that much when she idly glanced up and spotted the target, shrugging her shoulders. Her tone of voice was nonchalant, but the words carried a different meaning, “You’re terrible at the whole ‘spying’ thing, you know that right? Are we getting something to eat?” Abigail grabbed a menu without bothering to ask Brooks, settling into one of the worn chairs. The moment the waiter arrived, she cheerily asked for “One Wasteland omelet and a box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes, please!” knowing full well that she picked two of the most expensive things on the menu. She leant back against the chair contentedly, flashing another one of her cheeky grins at Brooks. “Wonder what they’re talking about,” she commented placidly.
Brooks stared at Abigail, knowing she ordered the most expensive batch out of menu out of some form of spite. “Water for me, please.” he’d nod dismissively as the waiter walked off to get their orders. Shifting his gaze back onto the couple sat ahead of them, Brooks ignored Abigail's question as he lightly shifted in his seat as the well dressed man seemingly stood up to hurry off to something. “That’s gotta’ be him, mhrm.” he settled himself back into a slouched back state in his chair, patiently waiting for the man’s return.
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