‘ this place is pretty big, have you been in every room ?‘she glances up at liz for just a brief moment, before resting her chin back onto the counter & tapping her nails across the surface. ‘—– at some point, i wanna. it’d certainly be something to do. ‘
❝ –– not yet. ❞ gaze wavers on the younger briefly before she goes back to her tidying. ❝ truth be told, i don’t go into most rooms unless i have to. you never know what sort of unpleasantness you’re going to run into around here. ❞
it was strange remy was somehow more cared for and loved, nearly ninety years after her death than she ever was in her, albeit short, life. that people who were initially total strangers ended up to LOVE her more than her foster parents, or, she shuddered at the thought of him her husband ever did. there was not enough alcohol in the world to drown her sorrows, and she wouldn’t even try. instead, she gives liz a small, teary smile and chuckles slightly, looking down at the bar. ❛ it’s rather odd, actually, i…sometimes i think i’m LUCKY. to have ended up here. with all of you. ❜ vengeful spirits excluded, naturally. ❛ you know my life…before wasn’t exactly a pretty picture. ❜
smile quells its beams as remy brings up her predeceased life : sentiment all but gone. her ear is bent with the full intention to listen, but liz won’t necessarily encourage the other to speak about such an unpleasant subject –– if only to save remy from that pain. a nod is given, slight &understanding in its short - lived nature. ❝ –– i think we’re lucky to have you. ❞ & when such a thing leaves cherry - tinted lips, the words resonate with meaning. but as the next escapes, they’re tinged with an inkling of humor, smile growing. ❝ it’s great to have someone i can gossip with. ❞
❝ it’s not so bad, once you adjust. having all of you there for me certainly helped. besides, now i can smoke all i want, with no consequences. what’s not to smile about ? ❞
It’s a look in her eyes, it’s not something many people would notice but taking care of countless teenagers, she’s learned to read people.. this stranger knows something. What, she isn’t sure, but well, she’s sure she can find out. “She checked in under the name Queenie.” As if the woman behind the counter didn’t know. almost everyone in the country knew their names now, their faces. Queenie had called before going in, it had been one of the conditions for letting people go. She’s overprotective of her girls, especially the Queenie and Zoe.
any shred of hope she may have held for the off - chance that, maybe, ms. goode was in search of another person, a different witch, instantly dissipates. as the blonde lets queenie’s name slip from her lips, liz’s heart leaps into her throat. a harsh swallow sounds : an accidental admission, per body language, of guilt. with an inkling of hesitation, she moves to browse the guestbook, as if she doesn’t already know queenie’s current status. as she comes upon the dead girl’s signature, she quickly comes up with a monotone lie, without looking up : ❝ –– says here she checked out. ❞
he looks up at her words as they hit him like a punch to the gut. air leaves his lungs and he looks shocked for the briefest of moments before the reality of it settles in. she was never going to change for him. she hasn’t in twenty years, why start now? he finishes off the glass in front of him and takes a long drag of his own cigarette.
“———i hoped…”
he doesn’t ask for advice because he knows he should leave her, but he also knows he CAN’T. he’s stuck here in this fucking tomb until she’s done with him. the thought alone is enough for his insides to twist in pain and his fingers twitch. he wants a junkie— there’s nothing like junkie blood and it’s what he wants to take his mind off HER. blue eyes turn up to the bartender in a silent plea for some kind of advice, anything. he doesn’t know what to do; he’s stuck in this place, this relationship, and while he wants to be with her more than anything, he isn’t sure it can continue— not like THIS.
WORDLESSLY, liz moves to refill donovan’s glass, & for a brief span of a few seconds, the moonshine spilling out of metal &into crystal is the only noise perforating the heavy atmosphere. compassion blooms as the other’s imploring gaze catches the attention of her own. it truly takes little to win her sympathy, & donovan’s expression, bordering puppy, successfully gains it –– for the time being.
she takes a moment to think before she speaks, in an effort to ward off the impending blunt edge to her tongue. ❝ you need a hobby. ❞ index, fitted with black, sharp ovals, lifts lazily to point at donovan, in classic lecture fashion, but her tone remains soft, & maybe even the slightest bit caring. ❝ –– something you can do without her. ❞
