isadoramorgan
business bitch
isadora morgan: business bitch.
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mckennaapplepie:
–
The blush that rose to his cheeks at the mention of sexual favors spoke of someone who just didn’t do a lot of that kind of thing. He liked sex. It was fun and sweet and felt really good as long as he knew who he was doing it with. Hollywood had tarnished his idea of monogamy, breaking him out of the idea that he could only have intercourse with someone he loved, but it hadn’t done it in a nice way.
Casting couches were as much myth was the sky was blue. Most everyone knew what happened in Hollywood after Weinstein but he couldn’t find it in himself to admit to any of that, much less think about pressing it onto others.
Did he look like a creepy director? Had the grimy streets of LA left its mark on him? Mckenna stared blankly at her, mentally filing through his own turmoil while she tried to figure out what he was really asking for.
“I don’t know,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders at her question. It was an honest one he’d been mulling over since it happened. Why did he and Charlotte break up? They were parting ways, but phones existed, didn’t they? FaceTime and Skype were designed for couples who lived apart so it hadn’t made a whole lot of sense to him. But he’d accepted it because… what else was he supposed to do?
“I’ve been thinking about it all this time but I can’t seem to figure it out. She hasn’t called me or texted or anything. It’s almost like we became strangers overnight,” he said. His eyes conveyed the hopelessness he felt over the situation where his words couldn’t.
“I know it’s been years but… I guess I’m still holding onto the idea that we’d end up together.”
- $$$ -
If there was one thing that piqued Isa’s interest, it was the complete avoidance of a topic.
Mckenna had blushed when she’d casually dropped the sexual favors thing into their conversation, but it was impossible for Isa to ignore that he’d made no comment on the matter whatsoever. No stumbling over his words to insist that wasn’t what he’d meant, no insistence that he’d never suggest it, no indication that his blush was for any reason other than being terribly innocent.
It was an almost upsettingly neutral response, sure to bother her if she thought about it too much in the moment. So she made a mental note to circle back at a later date, instead using their remaining moments together that afternoon to bask in Mckenna’s misery.
No calls, no texts... it sounded like his dear ex just wasn’t interested. Maybe she was feeling a little guilty about something (had the Beauty Queen cheated, perhaps?) or maybe she’d never been interested in the first place and escaping the bubble that was Gravewood High had finally clued her in on that. Either way, what Mckenna was suggesting was a recipe for disaster. His white picket fence, high school sweetheart dreams needed a reality check. She was more than happy to provide... once she’d gotten what she needed out of him.
Out of the corner of her eye, Isa became aware of one of the teens nearby chasing another with handfuls of glitter, the sounds of someone else being threatened with scissors soon following. The final grains of sand were truly slipping through the hourglass, but what truly mattered in that moment was a final sealing of the deal.
“And together you shall be,” Isa grinned, once again extending her hand for a formal shake. “After all, are we not all still the same people we were in high school, deep down? I help you with your ex, you help me with the town. And we all live happily ever after.”
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mckennaapplepie:
–
“I mean, he’s like, in jail now right?” was Mckenna’s blank response to Isa’s horror. It didn’t seem to win him any points with her when she inched in like a viper, eyes wide and doe-like to whittle down his guard. There wasn’t a lot to whittle but he’d have said that it worked.
She was talking again, her words an unintelligible siren song as long as he was smelling her hair and getting a perfect view of what she might look like from the top down. He swallowed hard at the flutter of her lashes, at the curve of her bottom lip. The click of her heels suddenly felt so pointed, like she was driving them right into his ignition and revving up his engine.
Mckenna was sweating, eyes nervously darting past her shoulder to see if the kids had heard his heart pounding an SOS and came running back to his rescue.
He was in trouble and he knew it.
A nervous chuckle escaped Mckenna’s throat as he bashfully glanced at the ground with every step closer that Isa took. It was appalling how long it’d been since he’d been approached by a girl who wasn’t getting paid to. Isadora Morgan wasn’t exactly his cup of tea in high school, but she was was one now. She was the whole tea pot as long as she kept touching him like that.
Long forgotten were the pigs and milkshakes at Marie’s, of murders and farms and construction paper turkeys. He only had one thing on his mind now.
“I, uh, I see your point,” Mckenna stammered, all but shuffling out of his skin. He wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to but it didn’t matter much then. Working with Isa would’ve meant seeing a lot more of her, which wasn’t something he was entirely opposed to. Except…
He cleared his throat at the mention of children, a certain blonde reappearing into his mind like the ghost of lovers past. Charlotte had once been the girl he dreamed of having a family with. The same girl that had broken his heart into little pieces before moving across state lines for a school he was supposed to go to.
Mckenna smiled ruefully and leaned away a little.
“I’d love to help you out, Isa. It’s just… I mean, if I do this, I was wondering if you could help me too.”
He looked and sounded hopeful, the soft blush on his cheeks suggesting a boyish naivete when he suggested, “I was hoping to reconnect with Charlotte and uh, I don’t know. Maybe you could talk to her for me? Like, girl talk or whatever.”
- $$$ -
“It will still always be a house of horrors to those who lost family members to the Dollmaker, Mckenna,” Isa insisted, the stressing of the male’s name accompanied by a gentle squeeze of his shoulder.
She could tell that her words were landing, her tone was just right. He had been on the precipice of understanding before she’d gone in for the kill with a light touch. She’d just needed to give him a tiny push over the edge. Who’d known that a little innocent flirting would be just the thing to do it?
I see your point.
It was a weaker concession than she would have preferred, but it still got the job done. And in return, Isa offered Mckenna a bright smile, a momentary trailing of her hand down from his shoulder to his own hand for yet another squeeze.
In another world, maybe things would have been different. Maybe their star turns in high school as Danny and Sandy would have led to a High School Musical-level rejection of the status quo. It wasn’t as if Isa hadn’t looked over at him as the curtain came down during opening night and considered the possibilities. But her expectations for Mckenna had always been low. Her dislike of him had been a front at first, materializing over time as he disappointed her without even realizing he was doing it.
At that point they were who they were. Not friends. Barely acquaintances. As it should be. And he’d just signed on to be her puppet.
Mckenna’s little cough probably should have been enough to indicate to Isa that the spell she’d worked to cast was fading fast, but instead the realization didn’t hit until she’d already dropped his hand and offered her opposite out for a shake. His step back mixed with her own actions had put a good amount of distance between them, but Mckenna’s earlier response to her, plus his words, had clouded her judgment a bit.
“I don’t participate in sexual favors in exchange for-” she began to insist, but the full processing of his proposition stopped Isa in her tracks.
“Oh. You want me to be your... Cupid? How sweet.”
Right. High school sweethearts. White picket fences. The American Dream. Isa’d never had female friends. She’d never done Girl Talk. But... she didn’t like Charlotte... and she didn’t like Mckenna. So, it was a match made in heaven, right? With the cherry on top being setting up a girl with her ex when he was probably an ex for a reason?
They got misery. She got money. A fair trade.
“I can agree to those terms, though I don’t know that we should put that in writing. But before I engage with her, I should probably ask... why did you break up?”
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samueladamsdyer:
“I think I’m wearing dollar store face paint. It’s not that deep.”
His intention was to knock her a little off balance, but perhaps he hadn’t given her enough credit. She was calculating, assessing, when he’d wrongly assumed she’d be all money and brain atrophy.
But she was curious, judging by the way she seemed to subconsciously lean towards him. He could do something with that, anyway, even if he had to do some reassessments and calculations himself.
And honestly? Part of him was kind of hoping she might go in on him for the obvious lack of effort and funds that had gone into his costume. He knew she as probably already looking down her nose at him. At the Dyers in general, really. Were they not the exact type of people the Morgans were trying to run out of town? He wanted to poke at that part of her, wanted to dismantle her carefully crafted words and thrust the ugly truth of them into the light.
Whoever Allison Argent was, though, he didn’t know, the name dragging his wandering mind back to the present for long enough to frown. “You know, I can’t really figure you out,” he said. Not a lie because he hadn’t tried. More so, he was hoping she might take it was the bait it was. “You throw this party with an incredibly broad theme that leaves the dress code up to interpretation, really. It depends on what your definition of a monster is, doesn’t it? But then you spend the night very generously hunting down werewolves and boogeymen because, what? They don’t quite fit with your aesthetic? Do I have that right?” He took a sip of his drink without breaking eye contact. Did he want her to have a problem with him? “Maybe I do.” He grinned, eyes glittering with challenge. “The party’s been a little bit… boring otherwise.”
- $$$ -
In most instances, Isa appreciated when her sense of style was validated. Knowing designers just based on silhouettes or colors, being able to place the season of a piece, all of the typical Devil Wears Prada shit. Having without a doubt known that a man’s cheap face paint had come from the dollar store, however? Not so exciting. And yet terribly Gravewood.
“Mmm,” she murmured to keep herself from making any other remark, the desire to contradict Sam’s statement with a cerulean monologue of her own contained easily enough. After all, though what a person chose to wear was that deep, he’d just given her a whole meal to devour. She certainly wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.
I can’t really figure you out.
Delightful.
“What came first - the makeup or the monster?” she questioned, eyes scanning Sam’s face before settling on his eyes once again. They hadn’t yet given anything away, but there was still time.
“Did you do the makeup yourself? How long did you think about what you were going to wear? Were you excited about it? Did you dread it?”
It felt almost like she was an unsuspecting villain giving her whole evil plan monologue to a hero on the cusp of greatness, but Isa knew that she was no villain. And she knew just how much to give away while still holding the power... even a couple of drinks in. Probably.
“Intention matters, Dyer. Your brother? Sisyphus. The man cursed to roll a rock up a hill for the rest of his miserable existence, knowing that no matter what he does, the boulder is still going to roll right back down and he’ll have to start again. Neither a god nor a monster, but he tried. He clearly wanted to be here. This room is full of people who don’t know me, don’t like me, only know of my family’s history in this town. But in a room full of what are essentially strangers, the people who put in effort? Those are the people I just might want to get to know.”
The bar was probably on the floor, given that Isa was about to give him credit for choosing makeup over a mask. In the smallest of ways, it had been proof that he did actually care. Luckily, their sustained eye contact while he claimed to want to make an enemy out of her for the evening had her mind going in a different direction.
“And what would make it more interesting? For you. Specifically.”
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charlotte-delyle:
-
Well, at the very least there didn’t seem to be any animosity toward her at first.. it more seemed that Isadora didn’t find Charlotte anymore interesting than the towel that was hung on the back of the door being completely honest.
Still, to be as rich as Isadora Morgan must be nice, to be able to simply just order another pair of shoes.. especially as the stain was so clearly not removing itself. But ah, eventually came the vitriol that Charlotte had so often heard about from people around town, rearing it’s well-manicured head.
“It usually is, I can’t be held accountable for what happens with a few drinks,” Charlotte said rather innocently, raising her hands as she did so. “I’ve only run into a foreboding mother tonight who seems to think they know best,” Charlotte added, thinking back to her run-in with Austin. Still, it was clear to see that perhaps Charlotte wasn’t wanted here.
… Still. “This is such a nice party, it brings me back to our high school days,” Charlotte opted for, touching up her lip gloss one more time in the mirror. “Everyone getting drunk, people moping in the corners.. makes you miss those years doesn’t it?” she offered, her tone perfect and interested.. but really she wasn’t. Maybe, Isadora not wanting her here had had the opposite effect.
- $$$ -
Wasn’t the purpose of throwing a party to have fun?
Isa was decidedly not having a good time. Her shoes were clearly wrecked, she could hear what was probably a terribly expensive vase smashing in the next room, and she was trapped in a bathroom with a girl who couldn’t take a hint.
How could things get worse?
Charlotte’s answer to the Hades question was so thoroughly disappointing that Isa couldn’t help but frown. She played it off like she was annoyed about the shoe situation, but the insinuation she’d made hadn’t so much as ruffled a single feather. And it certainly hadn’t lit a fire under Charlotte’s ass to push her towards the door.
“If you’re too drunk to remember second-nature things, maybe you should get started on drinking some water.”
The pointed glare that she shot the other girl immediately following her words was well hidden, nearly impossible to see while the blonde was eclipsing her in the mirror. Still, it was likely felt all the same.
High school was a dark time for Isa. She didn’t like to talk about it.
“It’s alarming to me that you’re already yearning for the good old days.” Her tone was much too saccharine, the words themselves a delicate balance between concern (fake) and insult (genuine). But what was the other girl expecting when she’d suggested that Isa could look back fondly on a time when she’d been mercilessly bullied and excluded? She’d never been invited to the parties in high school.
“Isn’t that not supposed to happen until you’re married, you’ve popped out a couple of kids, and you’re trying to relive your glory days by maintaining an ironclad grip on the PTA?”
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mckennaapplepie:
–
Isadora was a weird one. He couldn’t tell if she liked him or hated him by the way she was looking at him but he could admit that he didn’t mind as long as she was looking. She was like, smart and pretty and spoke like she should be writing for Forbes. He couldn’t exactly keep up but he wasn’t pretending like he could either.
“I guess I can do that if you give me a script or something…” he responded, sounding a little unsure of himself and Isa’s insistence that it wasn’t a legally binding contract. His mother had always said something about remembering to read the fine print but where were the lines in a verbal agreement?
Mckenna opened his mouth to respond only to get roughly yanked to the side. His brows shot up his forehead, uncertain whether he should be scared or aroused or both. His mouth hung agape, flapping soundlessly like a guppy as he glanced around to see if anyone else had saw that before turning his entire attention into her as she demanded it.
He quickly found that it was he who couldn’t keep his eyes off of her.
“Uh, thanks? I think?” Mckenna knew he was sounding mighty uncertain of himself but he couldn’t help but be genuine. Come to think of it, he didn’t know if he had a lawyer when his mother managed all of that for him. What kind of weird deals could she be making for him that would alert other people? He furrowed his brow as he thought deeply about all the things he’d done lately. His memories blanked once he tried to file through childhood.
Perking like a well-trained dog when Isa made her second point, Mckenna met her with another blank stare. She was talking real fast again, but he thought it might be rude to ask her to slow down again so he listened. And looked. And then looked some more. Man, did she smell nice.
“But I like Gravewood the way it is. It reminds me of home,” was the only tiny contribution he could make while his head was trying to catch up with the rest. His expression fell a little as he began to really understand what she was saying. She wanted a rehaul of the whole town. Make it newer and shinier like LA or Seattle. Mckenna wasn’t entirely sure about how much he liked that.
“You want to add more stuff? But what about all the stuff that’s been here forever? Like Marie’s or that weird little shop at the edge of town? Aren’t those worth coming here for?” he asked only to be cut off by a question.
Itching at the back of his head, Mckenna vaguely wondered if he was sweating from all the effort it was taking for him to match her speed. He’d run the entire football field four times over in seven minutes, but Isa’s mouth was light speed.
“Um… yeah. I volunteer there on the weekends to help out. Wait– you’re not planning on taking down the farm are you? Where are the pigs going to live?”
- $$$ -
At the mention of a script, Isa knew that she was at the very least on the right track. A script was exactly what she wanted Mckenna to memorize, her words filtered through his mouth with very little change and absolutely no improvisation.
But though he seemed game to give things a try, his clear disagreement with the points she was making had her wary of his odds of success. He was a fine Danny Zuko back in the day, but she needed someone who didn’t pose a threat of going rogue. She needed someone who trusted in her vision of the town, even if it was only in the broader brushstrokes of what was actually a terribly detailed masterpiece.
Did she like Mckenna? No. She was prepared to hold onto her high school grudge until the day that she died. But did she need him to like and trust her? Yes.
So, maybe she was off to a rough start by kicking her next round of convincing off with an almost horrified “you volunteer at the serial killer’s farm?” but could she really be blamed when that was a PR nightmare waiting to happen?
Volunteering? Good. Volunteering there? Obviously it was a good workout (Isa’s grudge didn’t impact her perfect vision), but what was his mom thinking?
“McKenna,” she started again, eyes wide and innocent to convey her lack of nefarious intent. “Homes are renovated all the time. Walls get painted. People make additions. Landscaping. I’m not advocating for anything extreme. Lest we forget, Gravewood is my home too.”
The small step forward and slight pout that came across her face as she appeared to mull over the pig comment should’ve won her awards. She had, of course, known what she was going to say from the second he’d brought it up. But she was trying to win the war, not simply a quick little battle. So she made sure to take her time with a response.
“Truthfully, right now half of Gravewood is a pigsty. The pigs could go anywhere and fit in. What I’m talking about is a marriage between the old and the new. We have our shiny renovated ski lodge, but what good does that do us if no one wants to come here? I’m not talking about closing Marie’s - I agree, we need to protect our small businesses - but I sure would love for Gravewood to be on the map for more than murder and having the lowest life expectancy in the United States. I mean, Rest in Peace to Tommy Richter, but maybe improving the quality of life here can prevent a repeat occurrence.”
Another small step forward. A reassuring hand on one of his shoulders. A small smile. Isadora Morgan really was the true star of their high school drama department.
“Don’t you want things to be better? For future generations of Gravewoodians? I mean, what if you decide to stick around here and have children? Do they not deserve to know the joys of a pumpkin spice latte from Starbucks?”
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mckennaapplepie:
–
Mckenna frowned at his headless turkey before putting it down in defeat at Isadora’s refusal to take his paper turkey diversion as a hint to quit while she was ahead. He wasn’t in the mood for arts and crafts but he was in even less of a mood to try and mentally wrestle with someone who looked like she’d fight her own reflection if it showed up wearing the same outfit at prom.
Honestly, it was kind of hot but he was already having conflicting feelings about being back in Gravewood to begin with. About meeting Charlotte again and seeing all the old townies who still ruffled his hair like he was thirteen and bucktoothed. He didn’t really need to add the Morgans onto that list. The same Morgans his mother used as examples of a small town mindset and meagre ambitions whenever they were in another room.
Mckenna had never really cared much about town politics or the gossip. He’d been the center of enough to know that not all of it was true. The juiciest part of any story was the only one that ever got heard, told often by the victors or overbearing mothers trying to sell the first SKUs of your teen body spray.
He stared at her, half-awed and mostly blank, uncertain of how to act when he wasn’t given cues from behind the camera.
“I didn’t say I didn’t care,” he interjected, then quieted when it didn’t seem like she was done. The rallying cry to the middle schoolers spiked every hair on the back of his neck as the kids cried out in unison; a PTSD response to a premature and understaffed tour concert with poor security. He glanced to his sides, wary of grabby hands and stray markers before sighing in both relief and defeat.
“I didn’t say I didn’t care,” Mckenna repeated carefully. “It’s just that my mom usually handles all of the business stuff. Like, I don’t think I’m legally allowed to accept offers without her approval. But, um, I’d love to hear more about what you’ve got planned for Gravewood?”
It was a concession and the best that he could do. He looked at her, hazel eyes wide and shiny with earnest sincerity. Please, have mercy, they said.
“Just… could you speak a little slower? I’m kinda jetlagged.”
- $$$ -
For about half of the time she’d been ranting at Mckenna, Isa had feared that the lights were on but no one was home. He’d nodded along, sure, but it had almost felt like she had been speaking straight to the wall. She could tell when she had a captive audience, and the teen idol? Well, she was starting to think that he was feeling more like he was being held captive. And that feeling was enough to have her crossing her arms, side-eyeing him as she waited for a proper response to the many good points that she’d just made.
The fact that his first response to her perfectly crafted pitch was to save face with the kiddies and insist that he really did care did not help his case.
“This isn’t a legally binding contract. I’m just saying... there are some issues that it would mean a lot to some people in town for you to speak up on,” Isa insisted, at the very least grateful for the opportunity to get him one-on-one.
Teens could turn on you in an instant, and Isa had never been one to waste an opportunity. And she would certainly never waste a double opportunity. The BeReal alert sounding throughout the room (since when did teens unmute their phones??) was music to her ears. The kiddies could avoid stabbing each other with scissors for the five minutes it took for her to make a proper argument.
Isa wasn’t exactly gentle as she grabbed Mckenna’s arm and pulled him just far enough away to have a truly private conversation, a chipper “we’ll be right back, besties” tossed over her shoulder as she did so.
“First, I just want to double check - you do have a lawyer to look over the business deals that your mother secures for you, yes? Just to reiterate, this isn’t one. But since we’re in a very teacher/student setting right now, I figured I could share some wisdom. Even parents can make mistakes sometimes.”
Having done her second good deed of the day, it was time to once again be a little selfish. She had no intention of leaving the middle school that day without a highly regarded red-headed ventriloquist dummy ready to perch on her lap.
“Second, the keyword here is revitalization. I’m sure that you can see how run down Gravewood both looks and feels. I love this town with my whole heart, but it’s really sad to watch things fall to pieces while knowing that there’s something I can do about it. I just can’t do it alone. We need to increase tourism, which means that we need both to beautify our town spaces and create something that people are going to want to come here for. For that, we need space. And I have a great idea of where we can find some... you know that our local serial killer owned a farm, right?”
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samueladamsdyer:
.
Sam was satisfied with Isadora’s clear disapproval in his choice of attire. The fact that he’d had to adhere to a dress code at all had been irritating enough. The face paint had simply been emasculation. He wasn’t here for a party.
Though to be fair, he wasn’t here for her either, but perhaps concessions could be made.
The Morgans were everything wrong with Gravewood. They came in with their shiny toys, flashing their no-limit black cards like it somehow made them better, and everyone else, the little people who had built this town, fell to the wayside. All they saw was undeveloped land and dollar signs, what businesses they could bring in that might drive out the riffraff and drive up the rent.
It disgusted him. She disgusted him.
He’d been powerless before, a David and Goliath story with no slain giant. But he’d been learning to hit back.
A slow, predatory smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He’d rankled her, if even a little, and he liked that. He liked her off-balance. And while he’d never been a scholar like Jamie, he wasn’t totally clueless. At least not in his bare minimum knowledge of Hades and Persephone. “Do you like to play with the devil, Morgan?”
His lips pulled back from his teeth in a smile that might have been more snarl at her challenge. His head canted to the side as he assessed her. As far as sparring partners were concerned, she left a lot to be desired. But this was a party, wasn’t it? He could have a little fun. “I wasn’t aware believability was part of the gods and monsters theme. I saw some werewolves earlier you might want to hunt down.” A pause, a narrowing of his eyes. A dare. “Or is it just me you have a problem with?”
- $$$ -
"Do you think you’re a real boogeyman?” Isa questioned, the remark just as much a deflection of Sam’s question as it was something that needed clarification. Was he the implied devil? And was their conversation thus far the play? Because if so... well, the devil was a bit of a disappointment. Wasn’t that particular dance meant to be more fun?
Perhaps she should have been a bit less outwardly curious, but she could tell from the moment her head had involuntarily tilted in contemplation that the alcohol in her system was impacting her ability to play things cool. Sadly, she simply knew too little about Sam Dyer not to take some level of interest in what he had to say.
And what he was saying (without so much speaking the words) was that he wanted to be at her party, actually. Why else would he defend his costume?
“You think I haven’t gone after the werewolves? I overheard some little nerd ranting about how appropriate they are for the theme, but it sounded fake. I’m a regular Allison Argent over here,” she insisted, the eye contact she was maintaining as she spoke purposeful. What was his reaction to what she was saying? Was he dismissive? Why was he actually engaging with her?
The face could lie, but the eyes had a harder time. Such knowledge had come in handy several times prior during her business negotiations. It was more rare for her to employ it in a casual conversation, but when dealing with an unknown who was seemingly trying to give off villain vibes, any little trick to see behind the façade could be useful.
“I think that following a dress code is a pretty simple thing to do, so if you’re asking if you’re the first person I’ve costume checked, the answer is no. But since I’m very generous, I’ve chosen to let the werewolf thing slide. I was thinking about doing the same for you, but, y’know, the jury’s still out on that. Do you want me to have a problem with you?”
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mckennaapplepie:
“I think you should talk to my mom about that…” was all Mckenna had to say in response to the slew of business jargon that had no business being in an afterschool club for preteens.
It was one half obligation and one half a desire to escape more tragic contractual obligations that didn’t require him to wear a letterman and say ‘jeepers’ in casual conversation. The vacation Jocelyn had advertised was less vacation and more a leisurely publicity tour around his hometown so that he could be photographed being charitable and kind. For the most part, Mckenna didn’t mind it so much. Gravewood was quiet, obscure, out of the limelight and nearly out of sunlight too.
It was relaxing. Aside from the locals being obsessed with his return.
Isadora Morgan had been a great partner in various school musicals, always prickly and full of the kind of fire he recognized in his sister. She sang and danced and pulled off routines he didn’t have the hip flexibility to manage. And more than that, she was fiercely independent. It was like God had taken all the parts he’d left out while making him and turned it into a pint-sized firecracker.
Mckenna had once thought it darling, but Isadora had grown up to be… more of the same. She’d somehow got both prettier and more intimidating at once, her wardrobe going from little skirts to business casual. He didn’t know how to approach the look she was boring into his skull so he simply didn’t, struggling to maintain a grin while putting together paper hand turkeys with construction paper.
“Is this really the place to be talking about that kinda stuff?” he said, trying for polite and coming out a bit strangled. He accidentally snipped the head off of his turkey and his smile faltered briefly.
“I mean, this is a middle school…” he tried, unable to ask why she was there and how’d she’d gotten authorized to be around children in the first place. “There’s extra construction paper if you feel like making turkeys.”
@isadoramorgan
- $$$ -
Isa had not taken the decision to recruit Mckenna Benson lightly.
It had taken a lot, actually, for her to convince herself to reach out at the middle school volunteer opportunity they’d both signed up for. She’d had to push aside the trauma of having co-starred with a football player in multiple high school musicals, of feeling popular for one brief moment before dropping back to complete nobody (or worse, really) status. The memory of people coming to see Grease just to watch him, when he seemed incapable of moving his hips to the same beat as the rest of the cast and his voice was mostly just okay.
The fact that he’d then become a famous actor had only been salt in the wound. And yes, she did hold a grudge.
But she needed a mascot.
By the end of her high school career, people had started to tune her out. She wanted things too badly. She didn’t fit in. She was unlikable and annoying. It had been years, and yet she had no doubt that she could scream in the middle of a crowded room and no one would hear.
Obviously, no progress was possible if people weren’t willing to listen. But that was where America’s Sweetheart Ben Cherry came in.
He could be her... Gritty. They had a certain level of similarity, did they not?
It had brought Isa zero joy to do it, but she’d turned the first portion of that day’s activities into a dual-pitch, the middle schoolers before her just as much her targets as the male next to her. And though neither party had seemed at all into what she was saying, she hadn’t been told to shut up yet. So, it was essentially a win.
But there was undoubtedly more to be said.
“Paper hand turkeys are a kindergarten-level craft,” she pointed out, frowning over at Mckenna’s mangled turkey before placing the replica turkey feathers that she had provided herself on her own.
If he couldn’t even manage the most basic of arts and crafts, how could she trust him with actual talking points?
Plastering on a fake smile, Isa murmured just low enough that only Mckenna could hear. “I’m just saying, if you care about Gravewood, it would be wise to care about this.”
Volume increasing to match her fake enthusiasm, she allowed herself a big finish for her pitch to the whole audience. “I mean, we love tourism! Right, kids?”
She really didn’t care about their opinions yet, since they couldn’t vote and impact the spending of local tax dollars, but leave a lasting impact on the young, right? The youth are the future.
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charlotte-delyle:
Maybe, in fact Charlotte should have locked the door. But being tipsy didn’t really give anyone the right sense of what to do and why to do it. Yet who should walk in if not for the woman of the evening, Isadora Morgan. Of course, of all the people that had to walk in…
Looking down, it was unfortunate to see that Isadora’s shoes were ruined, Charlotte wasn’t so crass as to laugh at someones misfortune when Louboutins were involved.. was she? “It didn’t really cross my mind, no,” she offered with a slight smile.
Isadora didn’t look too happy to see her, “I thought it being closed would be enough but, lucky I was just fixing my make-up, isn’t it?” she offered, putting the final touches on her lipstick as she did so. Turning to lean up against the bench, Charlotte looked almost sorry for Isadora. “That doesn’t look too good, vomit isn’t the easiest thing to get out is it?” she offered to the other, pulling a few makeup wipes out of her clutch. “These might be easier?”
Did it feel good to be that one step above Isadora tonight, considering they were in the same costume? Yes. Not that she’d let that show though.
- $$$ -
It didn’t cross her mind? How fucking weird. Isa’d essentially grown up alone and even she knew to lock the door behind her, drunk or not.
Not about to give up on the whole bathroom door thing, Isa decided to save more thoughts on that particular dilemma for another time, her shoes taking first priority. She didn’t even spare a second glance at the other girl in the bathroom, unrequested makeup wipes appearing in her hands without so much as a thank you in response.
“I’ll send them to be professionally cleaned, but it’s not like I can’t afford another pair,” was all she said instead. And then she was scrubbing, trying to salvage things to lessen the odds that she would have to make an unnecessary purchase.
Her parents had raised her to be thrifty. To appreciate money. Nowadays she appeared to spend it like she had an unlimited supply, but she did, in fact, adhere to a strict (large, but still) budget.
The more she scrubbed, however, the more frustrated she grew. At the shoes. At the situation. At the other girl dressed as Persephone who hadn’t taken the hint and was still in the bathroom.
Isa hadn’t actively disliked Charlotte Delyle until more recently. Sure, she’d gotten attention back in high school for being pretty, but a lot of people had sparkled like diamonds to the outsiders looking in.
No, the unforgivable offense was that Charlotte had gotten out. She’d had an opportunity that Isa, due to family obligations, had only ever been able to dream of. And she’d squandered it. And now they were face to face.
Had Charlotte been nice enough thus far? Sure. But Isa had no desire to engage with the cubic zirconia to her actual diamond.
Hmmm. What could make someone flee?
“Unless you’re hoping for someone to catch you shitting someday, I suggest turning locking the door when entering the bathroom into a second-nature behavior. Oh... unless you were waiting for someone? Mmm, a Hades, perhaps?”
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niyahwilliams:
.
Aniyah’s eyes scanned the people in front of her as they parted in both directions for the ladies as if one of them were Moses and the other was Moses’ hot friend. If Niyah was born in biblical times, she definitely would have tried to get with that guy. Anything for a little much deserved notoriety. She sort of hoped everybody behind them would (literally and figuratively) follow them or drown.
Of course, Aniyah knew she would probably be on the second slide of whatever Instagram post Isa put out but that was good enough to buy her at least 30 followers. For some reason, Ni was never afraid of or threatened by Isadora. They were both about the same end goal which was money, money, and more money with a small side of fame. She knew she looked great and hoped that the man hired would know how to light both of them in the same photo.
“I hear you. This town could use a Starbucks or a Lulu Lemon. Wish I didn’t have to run my ass out to Charleston just for a pair of acceptable leggings. Just remember to pull me up with you for PR.”
- $$$ -
“At this rate, I’d take a Buffalo Exchange. Since it’d be the only one in West Virginia, maybe it’d promote tourism,” Isa sighed, trying to keep her expectations for big businesses low. She’d been working on a Starbucks for years. There were sadly only like... 21 in the state. Entire swaths were entirely Starbucksless.
“Also, a Buffalo Exchange would up the fashion game of the locals. I’ve heard - though I wouldn’t know, since the most reduced, reused, recycled thing I wear is either vintage or Reformation - that they’re not allowed to purchase anything that’s ugly. There would have to be a trickle down effect. The first stop on the path to a Neiman Marcus. Or a Nordstrom with a little café inside.”
She knew that she probably should have been a little more quiet about her desire to actually make Gravewood an appealing place to live, big-name stores and all, but at that point dialing things down wouldn’t impact her popularity. She’d been mostly disliked her whole life. So, why not be very clear about things?
Local businesses were great, but they didn’t live in a Hallmark movie. Gravewood, where most people didn’t seem to care about anything other than sports, alcohol, and staying miserable, was a far cry from one of those snowglobe-perfect towns.
But there was potential. One makeover montage and lives could be changed.
“But hey... at least the powers that be have decided that we get internet. Where would we be without online retailers?”
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indyerstraits:
–
Jamie made a noise of frustration when Isadora edged into view again as he plucked a single mummydog from the delectable spread. For once his height came in handy for more than simply reaching the top shelf at the Quik-E-Mart and he flew the tiny sausage over the girl’s head and into his mouth before she could snatch it from him like a vulture.
“Have you ever considered that your theme sucks?” he said, cheek pillowed with food. He gave her a stinky look as she brandished her phone like a teen girl out of an CW show. “It’s Halloween, not the damn MET gala.”
Jamie snaked an arm around her to reach for a cup. “As was Zeus and Hera, Hades and Poseidon. All Olympians were cruel and vindictive, evident in the way they punished a mere mortal for skirting around their stupid rules– much like how you’re doing it to me,” he said, holding the glass high overhead in case she tried to grab it from him.
”Sisyphus at the very least used his brain and wasn’t simply felled by a split heel but no one argues the godhood of Achilles– who, for the record, was far more arrogant and avaricious,” he added, gesturing loosely at the other costumes milling about the party. There were inaccurate laurels, foam wings and a plethora of bedsheet togas that he was pretty certain were less effort than the amount of thought he had about his own.
Trying again to squeeze past her to the sweet fountain of top shelf jungle juice, he stopped midway, sandwiched between Isadora and the food table when she refused to budge for his girth.
“Are we done here? I can go all night but I don’t think you’ll last very long with a single wikipedia page.”
- $$$ -
The fact that Isa was 5′2 had always been mildly annoying. Her stature had never matched her spirit. It was very though she be but little, she is fierce of her. But mostly she’d come to terms with it.
That was, until someone decided to use it to their advantage in such an annoying way.
Shaking her head to avoid crumbs from Jamie’s insolence, his actions finally elicited a roll of her eyes. She couldn’t keep him from the food as long as it was stacked high enough for his gangly arms to reach, but the alcohol was another story.
He wasn’t about to get a single drop until she was well and done with him.
“Mmm, I don’t think it’s the theme,” she fired back, treading lightly so she wasn’t proudly insulting those surrounding them that she was meant to be winning over. “As for the MET? Clearly. I love Gravewood dearly, but I don’t think that people in town necessarily have the... resources for Camp: Notes on Fashion.”
She had thought that Jamie would see reason and stop arguing with that evening’s hostess, but it seemed like he was prepared to argue simply for argument’s sake. An Energizer Bunny of negativity. And she didn’t fucking care about Sisyphus. He was a murderer. Most of the gods probably had reasons for doing the shitty things they did. What was his excuse? And what was Jamie even arguing in his favor for?
He could keep on rolling that boulder right on up the hill, but Isa was going to keep kicking it down. They could debate until the sun rose.
In the meantime, her eyes continued to skim the article.
“You say skirting around the rules, I say that’s ignoring some of the bigger problems. Revisionist history. I don’t know... it seems really obvious why he wasn’t made a god. It doesn’t seem like shitting all over the system you want to be a part of is the best recipe for success.”
She had been carefully blocking his access to the fountain behind her, but she was reaching a point where it would be rude to others to keep Jamie away for much longer. As a woman of the people (just not of the Jamies) she had an obligation.
But she could at least make it seem like she was doing them both a favor by calling it.
“You underestimate my abilities. But yes,” she agreed after what she made sure felt like a moment of careful deliberation. “You’re excused.”
And with that she was off. Or, sort of. She did turn back just to offer a reminder.
“Oh, before I go... safe rides home are available via Uber or Lyft within a fifteen mile radius. Assuming you don’t have a flip phone, use the code ISAWEEN.”
She refused to be responsible for any of Jamie Dyer’s drunken shenanigans.
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leoyoons:
* ∗ ⁎ ⟶
On nights like these it was always harder to be on her best behavior— even with the one or two glasses of moscato she’s had, Leonora felt like the sober friend, fighting the urge to let loose in all those ways she was used to. She’d kept to herself because most of these interactions would require some apologizing on her part, and she’d avoided their gracious host because of the other obvious reasons.
It was an odd thing that she’d been so desperate for everyone’s attention save Isadora’s, but she could be loyal when she wanted to be. There were some people in this world you could dislike for a million reasons, those that you’d dislike for none, and then those unfortunate souls that fell into the ‘dislike by association’ category.
Besides all of that, their previous conversations had painted a clear enough picture.
So she’s understandably shocked when one Isadora Morgan wanders into her own personal ground zero— even more so with the words that follow.
Leonora doesn’t have a horde of things she’s proud of ( tangible or otherwise ), but these garments were her art, to ask was to open Pandora’s box though she didn’t really want Isadora to know of it’s contents. “Thank you?” The words fill the space and she doesn’t mean to sound confused, but she can’t be blamed, considering the people they are. “I made it myself, actually,” and then after a beat, “yours as well, but I’m sure you knew that.”
- $$$ -
Once Isa had decided to play nice and she wasn’t met with immediate full resistance, it was difficult to get her off of that path. After all, a simple return compliment could be a sign that Mackenzie Thomas hadn’t yet completed her brainwashing, right?
Perhaps Leonora was still, deep down, fair game.
“Thanks,” Isa decided to simply accept the compliment, the more obvious I did best for another type of conversation. One that was more combative. One that stank of Mackenzie.
Carefully, she continued.
“As I’m sure it’s no surprise, I did not make mine myself, but I was very specific with the moodboard I sent my designer. Really all I can take credit for is the seed that sprouted the flower. And the discovery of some of these accessories - many of which are from Etsy.”
Isa doubted that Leonora would appreciate a spotlight shining onto their conversation, especially when it could be reported as traitorous, so she kept her volume just low enough for the other girl to hear, a sip of champagne or two accompanying the awkward silence where they both had to choose between continuing to converse and calling it a day.
Luckily, the fizz of the champagne was like a mental reset for Isadora. With a little less apprehension, she was able to fully commit to seeing things through.
“You know,” she started then, grateful to have such an obvious next topic to jump to. She was very clearly one of the only people in attendance who cared about fashion. And costumes. Best to use it to her advantage. “It’s so sad that Gravewood High was never able to utilize your talents for the costumes for our musical productions. We were horribly underfunded and the director decided to do it all alone. I’m pretty sure my Dorothy costume was more of a recycled Alice in Wonderland. But I am thisclose to securing a series of investors for a community theater, so if that might be of interest...”
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teddyxmiller:
To say that Teddy was surprised to get an invitation to Isadora’s party would be an understatement. If he’d known that he received a personalised one, he might’ve fallen over. Having been gone from Gravewood for so long, he wasn’t sure how many people actually remembered him from the people he’d known, and he highly doubted that any of the new people would know who he was.
But, despite his reservations, he’d gone to the party anyway.
The costume he’d put together wasn’t anything special, just a few things he’d found for cheap at the store and some of his own old clothes. It was a far cry from what others had shown up in, and he felt like he stuck out a little, and not in a good way.
He’d seen Isadora around town, but hadn’t really spoken to her, so when he found himself face to face with the woman behind the party, he was more than a little surprised. However, through her compliment, he could feel the judgment.
“Hi, Isadora. Uh, thanks for the invitation, this is quite the party you’ve thrown.” Not that he had much to compare it to – Teddy Miller was by no means a party animal. His voice lacked the confidence that the woman in front of him had, and it was clear from the slight quiver in it that he was intimidated.
“Your costume looks really great.” He added with a smile, his fingertips tapping quietly against the cup of soda in his hand.
- $$$ -
The grin that Isa offered Teddy was genuine.
Even though it was coming from a man wearing jeans, she could always appreciate a good compliment. And Teddy had offered her 1.5 of them between the party and costume comments. But Isa was nothing if not modest, so she brushed off the sentiment with a practiced casual shrug.
“It’s just a little something I tossed together. Both the party and the costume,” she insisted. It was a lie in both cases, but he didn’t need to know just how much effort she put into appearances and impressing others. It was a little try-hard when the bar was literally on the ground... and covered in dirt.
"I’ve been meaning to check in, actually,” she soon added, pivoting the conversation towards exactly where she wanted it to go.
Had she prepared talking points in case Teddy were to appear that evening? Yes. But was there a whole lot of careful buildup that needed to occur before she could actually reach them? Also yes.
So she started slow.
“People haven’t been too annoying at this time of year at your farm, have they?” she inquired. “I only ask because someone TP’d the Morgan Estate recently, so I figure no one is safe from town mischief.”
And not because of the whole serial killer thing was best left unspoken.
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