talk with yo `HIPS

[ollie]

the stories of the black widow had spread far and wide in the few months she’d surfaced. many stories were told—of her slitting the throat of a business man and disappearing without a trace, she’d even heard one person saying she broke a man’s neck and fled before they could recognize her. many often said her hair was long as a spider web, though every witness said it appeared she had a bob like every other woman these days. her wardrobe changed, all murder weapons concealed, and very few could consider the black widow to be lore gaviston, supposed wife of darin gaviston. her marriage wasn’t truly legitimate, though if a judge searched for lore adreias they would find none, as she’d changed her name even as a child and again changed it when she’d “married” darin gaviston. honestly, she did love him, in her own way—a mixture of platonic and romantic feelings, both heightened and flattened at the drop of a pin, without any sign or warning. in reality, darin was supposed to be dead because of her, and not due to a job but rather a slip of his seemingly silver tongue, and only the fact that he was so apparently trustworthy had he survived. and become her partner in crime—and her husband.

in their small neighborhood, it was a well-known fact that darin was a promiscuous man—women came and went when lore was in the city, while for lore all that came and went was muffins out the doggy door she’d had installed for him. her “friends,” the housewives in their modest neighborhood, were always gossiping about them; every time she joined them for lunch, they would be telling her about another new girl with a chassis to rival “the women in my husband’s magazines,” as the woman had said. they’d all gasped and gone talking about their husbands’ magazines, then, and lore had been silent. finally, they’d turned to her and her neighbor, the one that had remarked about the girl, having seen her leaving with her dress haphazardly put on and hair frazzled, quickly came to what she thought would be her rescue.

“oh, doll, she was an absolute bird—hardly had the air of one right in the head, if you understand me. i mean, she had it, but that’s all darin likes in those birds. flappers with it.” she clucked, shaking her head at this awful predicament she was seeing, or so it seemed. lore nodded, looking down at the little sandwich in her hand, before taking the last bite and a sip of her lemonade. sometimes, it was nice to be a lady; to sip lemonade and sit back in the extravagant gardens of her neighbor. she herself gardened, however she wasn’t very talented, and she could hardly keep her roses alive. though still, she prevailed, hardly ever forgetting to water them—always having her neighbors look after them when darin and her both went into the city together.

“dear, what is the time?” lore asked, peering at her neighbor. the woman glanced down, and after remarking it was one o’clock, lore nodded and stood. “i’m supposed to make lunch for darin. i promised him, seeing as we haven’t had a proper meal together in a while, now. that devil spawn puppy of his has been awful and having to take care of muffins and ward that creature off is difficult, what with it always following darin. i can hardly take the time to be with my husband nowadays—i don’t blame him for those birds. i would be the same.” the women nodded sulkily, and with a quick kiss on the cheek to all of them, and a last sip of her lemonade, she said goodbye and returned home, thankful to be back on the porch of their little blue ranch house.

honestly, lore loved their house. the quiet sweetness of it, like a homemade cookie or the lemonade she’d just had, was something she’d been deprived of in her childhood. when she stayed in the city, it was some cramped apartment set up by her boss, while this home was something both her and darin had put their sweat and blood into. she smiled fondly, running her hand over the doorframe as she opened it and stepped in. muffins, always the lover of ankles, came and rubbed against each before mewing at her, tail raised high in the air. she picked him up, as always, walking through the house with the calm ease she had anywhere she knew darin was watching over. honestly, she trusted him more than anyone in her life—her employers, her family, though not muffins of course—and the only thing she had against him was that demon spawn he probably had taken on a walk, as she didn’t hear him coming after her beloved cat. walking into the kitchen, she placed her cat on the table before going to the refrigerator, beginning making lunch because she hadn’t been lying when she’d said she planned on making a proper lunch for darin.

she hummed under her breath, looking up and out the window that opened out into her meager garden. she watched it for any signs of people before pinning her hair out of the makeshift bob, letting it fall long and free down to the lower half of her spine. still continuing her melody, one she could not name but came naturally to her, from memory or maybe learned from a family member, she glanced over her shoulder, thinking she’d heard the front door open. “muffins, if that mutt’s coming in, i’d get somewhere safe.” she said, picking up her cat again, this time to put him on the counter, as darin knew that he couldn’t harass her cat when he was in her plain sight. the same went for his dog, unfortunately, and the little rascal was always at his heel—so inclined she was to kick it, having seen it chase muffins day in and out, she often had to cross her ankles when it came near, especially when with its unfortunately kindhearted master. the idea of darin came to mind now, the image of him, and she blushed to herself before going back to making a sandwich, humming again.

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[Mimi]

"Come, Roger."

Darin tugged impatiently on the leather leash as the pup German Shepherd, only a few months old, ignored him and continued circling the fire hydrant with dumbfounded doggedness. Darin tugged again, harder this time with the intent to choke when, just as suddenly as the pup had stopped, he wheeled about and bulldozed forward, now tugging Darin and yapping as if to say "come on, quick being slow!"

Fickle. That's what the dog was being - fickle, and what a coincidence because Darin's father used to be fickle as well. They even shared the same name.

The corner of Darin's mouth upturned in the reminiscence of a smirk as he fell into a light jog after the pup. No, no coincidence there. If naming one's son after one's father was considered homage, then what would naming one's dog after him be considered? An insult? Darin fully meant it to be.

Since his old man's funeral, he'd rarely brought him up again except when asked jokingly why he hadn't named the pup Butter ("Butter and Muffins!"). Darin would respond just as jokingly that the dog resembled his father too closely to be named anything else, and they would all laugh and think he was being a dutiful son or, at the very least, a jokester when he was anything but. Maybe it was a petty gesture; maybe he shouldn't dishonor the dead as he'd been warned, but hey, the deed was done, and Darin would have been lying had he said he didn't get a kick out out of telling Roger to sit and roll over.

Absorbed in his thoughts, Darin scarcely noticed when another young man, a tad older than himself, rounded the corner with his own dog and nearly barreled into him.

"Darin!"

Darin blinked, yanking abruptly on the leash and causing Roger to backtrack on his hind legs with an indignant growl-yelp.

"Phil. How're you doing?"

Darin looked the man up and down with an incredulous half-smile.

"Overcoat while walking the mutt? You look more like you are about to head into town on business."

Phil laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and tugging on the leash in a fruitless attempt to reign in the yellow furball.

"Yeah. I have some business to attend to in the city, but you know, the wife said I had to take Scamp out for a stroll."

Darin nodded understandingly. "How's Nancy anyhow?"

"She's well though still awful sore at you and Lore for missing our dinner reservation...for the sixth time. You know how difficult it is to reserve a table at Broussards?"

There was a pause. Darin bent down, pulling Roger in close and rubbing the pup behind the ears to calm him down. Delicate question - how to answer it? He mentally generated and scrolled through a list of excuses (most of which had already been used once if not twice) - Lore was sick, he had work, the dog lapped up a bottle of Lysol...

Darin shrugged. "Sorry about that, Phil. You know how it is. Lore feels terrible about the whole mess too."

Phil narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, looking stern and unforgiving for a moment - only a moment - before he broke down and laughed amiably, clapping Darin good-naturedly on the shoulder. "Yeah, yeah. But hey, listen, Nancy's adamant about having you and Lore over Wednesday for a little dinner party. She said, and I quote, 'Oh, they better or - or gosh darn it, I won't ever speak to her again!'"

Quirking an eyebrow in response, Darin slowly straightened and shoved one hand in his pocket. "Well, I'd have to consult with Lor --"

"Great, see you over Wednesday, and hey, you best be on the level this time, Gaviston. I know where you live."

Obviously. Darin smiled thinly in response.

"I best be going, then. Come along, Scamp."

Phil patted the Golden Retriever gently on the back and made to leave when a thought occurred to him. He stopped short, pivoted, and regarded Darin across his shoulder with an inquisitive look.

"And Darin, I know this isn't really my place to ask, but about those girls coming and going --"

"Goodbye, Phil."

Without waiting for the man to finish, Darin reaffirmed his grip on Roger's leash and turned back the way he came. He scoffed under his breath - suburban folk and their inability to keep their noses out of other people's business.

Coming up to the little country house he and Lore shared, Darin slowed to a walk and whistled for Roger, who had been bounding ahead completely unawares, to follow suit. Roger barked enthusiastically, sprinting now up the pathway to the porch and pawing expectantly at the doggy door. Darin would never understand why he always seemed so excited to see Lore when Lore seemed to want nothing to do with the mutt. And really, part of the reason he adopted Roger was to annoy that damn cat of hers. Who names a cat "Muffins" anyhow?

"Shhhhhh," Darin muttered, gently touching the dog with his shoe as he fumbled for the key. Fishing a small ring of keys from his pocket, Darin sighed and thumbed through them for a few seconds before finally coming upon the jagged, rusted one for the house.

There was a moment's pause before he jammed it into the keyhole. Man, there were still days that he couldn't believe he got talked into marrying her. Even if it was just for their cover.

"Honeeyyy, I'm hooommeee," he called out, a facetious tinge behind the words.

Roger barked in the affirmative as if to announce that he too was home. He scampered breathlessly about the room, at least the area allowed by the length of the leash, and whined to have the leash taken off. Darin laughed under his breath as he knelt to the hardwood floor and scratched the pup behind the ears.

"Why, you're just a live wire today, eh, boy?" he muttered affectionately, petting the dog firmly on the head before sliding the noose from around his neck.

Roger promptly skidded into the kitchen where he plopped down obediently on his bum at Lore's feet, panting and wagging his tail.

Darin sighed, got up, and sauntered after him into the kitchen. He smiled to himself, seeing Lore putting the finishing touches on a sandwich before noticing the cat -- sitting on the kitchen counter.

"Lore! For God's sake, stop putting the cat on the counter. I don't want to eat lunch where its rump's been sitting."

Darin took a threatening step towards Muffins with the full intention of hustling it out of the kitchen, but before he could make a move, it promptly arched its back, hissed at him, and jumped elegantly off the table, walking away with its nose in the air. Roger growled, about to chase after it.

"Stay, Roger," Darin ordered, and Roger whimpered submissively, crossing its paws and setting its head down near Lore.

"I swear, Lore, I am going to skin that cat of yours alive one day," he murmured, popping open a cupboard and taking a glass down from the upper shelf.

"So," he started, "I ran into Phil on the way. He says Nancy's awful sore about us missing that reservation again. Says Nancy's holding a dinner party this Wednesday and wants us there."

He went to the sink, standing alongside Lore now as he turned the faucet and stuck the glass underneath it, watching it fill about half-way with water.

"I said --"

Darin's eyes narrowed. Someone was watching them. For a moment, there was a reflexive instinct to go for his gun (which, on second thought, he didn't even have on him then) before common sense returned, and he glanced out the ample kitchen window and waved half-heartedly at their neighbor and his lawnmower. Darin wondered how long the man had been watching them, but at seeing he'd been discovered, he waved back and hastily lowered his head, returning to his mowing and pretending he hadn't been peepin' on his neighbors.

Darin had half a mind to close the drapes. Leaning back into the counter and sipping at the cold water, he muttered quietly, "Damn neighbors need to mind their own beeswax. God, I hate suburban living."

"Anyhow, I said that I'd consult with you, but I'm guessing we should go. If not, they might start suspecting we're murderers and rum runners -- or that we don't like them. Either way, it'd be too close to the truth for comfort."

He sighed for a moment and ran a hand through his hair before his eyes resettled on Lore and took on a kinder expression. "You've been gone an awful lot. My schedule's clear tonight; any jobs that you need me to supervise this evening?"

Something like regret stirred in the back of his mind and might have spilled out into his words. He hoped the housewives hadn't been giving Lore any trouble over the girls he'd been bringing home in her absence.

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[ollie]

lore hadn’t been sure she was right, but soon she heard his voice and the sound of dog’s feet. she hardly had any time to brace herself before roger was bounding through, and she glanced at muffins as the cat arched bristled at the sight of the mutt. she heard the dog growl, and her lip curled as she looked down at it, hating its dirty little face. her toes curled and she was just about ready to kick it and send it across the room, yelping as she hoped it would, when she heard “stay, roger,” from behind her. she looked up at him, having hardly noticed him come in (not a good sign that she didn’t even hear him entering, though him being a rum runner did mean he was one hell of a good sneaker), eyes flickering over his face thoughtfully before she turned back to the sandwich she was making. ham, mayo, cheese—his favorite, at least as she remembered it. it’s hard to remember, when your husband loathes every moment of being stuck married to you.

“if you skin my cat, darin,” she said softly, her voice nonthreatening and simple, “i’ll do the honors of sterilizing your dog.” the word sounded almost like a bad name, or what you don’t want to admit something is. she looked down at it, how it looked at her as if it deserved her attention, and again her lip curled, naturally, as she nudged it away from her with her foot, as gently as she could muster. she watched him, again eying him, this time his arms, especially where they were bare. she quickly looked away, before he could notice—wasn’t it funny, that she didn’t want her husband to notice she found him attractive. how fucked up i am. he doesn’t even know the half of it.

lore nodded, like she always did, as she listened about their neighbors. a dinner. wednesday? “i don’t have anything planned y—” she paused, listening to him begin to speak, but he stopped himself. she looked up, light eyes looking forward this time, out the window to the man watching them. she’d seen him several times—she had a feeling he’d watched her undress before, one of those perverts that hopes a young, amorous couple feels naughty one evening and does the dirty on their kitchen table. she didn’t hide her distaste, watching him look away when his eyes met hers, and she let out a soft sigh as she finished the sandwich she’d been making. she hadn’t really been working on it for this long—for the most part, she’d been deliberating, wishing there was something else to do other than play wife. she heard darin mumble he hated suburban living, and she looked up at him as he leaned against the counter. mutely, without any indication but the motion, she pushed the plate towards him and turned on the sink again, running her hands under it if only to relax.

“you’ve been gone an awful lot. my schedule’s clear tonight; any jobs you need me to supervise this evening?” there was the sound of regret, one she hardly heard from darin (maybe because they rarely saw each other long enough to know each other’s voices), and when she looked away from the running water, and up at him, he almost looked like a real husband. almost. that bitter feeling in her stomach solidified and she almost said i hope i’m not ruining a plan with one of those flappers, but she put it away and straightened her back a bit, eyes tracing the world outside their house, the quiet suburbia, before leaning up and closing the drapes. they only blocked out any people, though the light still streamed in, and she felt a little safer, as always, that no one could see her. no one but her fake husband. she rubbed her forehead with the backs of her knuckles, turning off the faucet, and stepped around darin to get a glass for herself, taking the homemade lemonade she’d gotten from a friend earlier that day and pouring herself a glass.

“i like suburban living, actually. nosy and everything, but they mean well in their own… odd way. it’s different than what we know, and i like that. they care, not like anyone i knew growing up. it doesn’t fuck a person up like the city will.” she said, hardly caring about the word that left her lips. knowing he hated when she cursed, she sighed softly, pressing her lips together before parting them again, voice soft. “excuse my language. but that’s the best way to explain me, at least. i think you’d agree.” her voice became a little stronger at the end, and she looked up at him, this time searching for any resentment, or maybe, just maybe, guilt. if only she ever saw that on his face—regret, maybe, but never guilt. he never said ‘i’m sorry’ or spoke to her before she heard it from everyone else. was it so bad, so pathetic, for her to ask that of him in their sorry relationship?

“i’m absolutely touched by the offer,” she said, bordering on sarcastic, though it did actually mean something (nevertheless a little something) that he cared. that was the whole reason for this relationship; she could be a criminal and he could watch out for her when she went into the city and needed him, and she killed anyone that threatened him. she would have done it no matter what, whether they’d struck this deal or not—she liked darin, maybe even loved him, and anyone that threatened him or was a bad influence for him could consider themselves dead if lore ever heard of them. “but i’m staying home tonight. maybe we could see a movie, y’know… play husband and wife.” she teased, a genuine smile on her face, though it was a tad bit flirtatious and certainly implied that he slept with his wife rather than some flapper he dug up. her accent made it a bit different—she didn’t have the same old louisiana accent, but rather, a russian one that she denied at any time. her parents had owned a big company—and killed because of it—and lore had been brought into louisiana when she was fourteen by the man that nearly became her pimp. lore adreias, while she’d never admit it, wasn’t even her birth name—she’d been born dariya, not that she’d ever told anyone, even darin. lore had been given to her when her boss had come in contact with her—the folk’s lore, if you get the idea.

“i’ve missed those arms of yours, you bimbo,” she purred, her sweet face taking on something like the black widow’s, though it was much more sincere as she ran her hands along his forearms. she giggled, hands moving to his abs. she certainly knew how to win a man over—hell, it was her job! “and i won’t be a tease. i miss all of you, darin. you know i love you.” here was where it became tricky; when she said i love you while in the middle of seducing him. she absolutely hated when she said it, especially as it was becoming more and more possible that it was true, but she looked at him genuinely, possibly more than she ever had when she said that. usually, though, when she said it they were half-drunk with yelling and anger that it sounded a lot like loathe, and she just wanted the heavenly sex, and he had begun to even dismiss it; but for once she didn’t want him to. she looked down, running a hand through her hair, wetting her lips. “i don’t—i don’t mean it like i usually do. really. i mean it this time.”

it was difficult, being stuck on your husband. and really, it was for them—they brought out the worst in each other, constantly trying to aggravate each other, and lore wasn’t a sucker for sex but he just made her feel so damn sexy. when he pulled her hair or pinned her to the wall, looked at her like she was undoing him as much as she knew he was undoing her, she wondered if this was how sex should be, how love should be. they were a match made in hell, that was always certain, but the fact of the matter was lore knew she hated every single whore that went in and out of her house and if she ever went to bed with a man in, well, their bed, she had a feeling he would hate them just the same. or she hoped he would. he ruined her and saved her at the same time—made her hate her own kind and yet, make her give a shit about life and feel like she was worth something, anything. they were possibly the most dysfunctional couple out there, but hell, she really hoped that someday, if not that moment, he would be in love with her, too.

ooc: lore's a whore. anyway, the slang in this post is bimbo—tough guy, and stuck on—have a crush on.

[Mimi]

ooc; pikcha plz because imma picture whore |3 but yeah. this is probably something along the lines of what darin's wearing?

Darin looked back at Lore from the corner of his eyes when she glanced up at him and briefly wondered what she was thinking about. They didn't say more to each other than they said, and lately, this gap between them of unspoken words and emotions and what have you seemed to be growing; it constituted at the very least half of their fragmented relationship together. He couldn't help but sense some vague resentment towards him, and for a moment, there was an urge to inquire after it before Darin clamped his jaws together and left it alone. They would most likely end up fighting over it - whatever it was - and maybe it was part of being a "husband," but Darin loathed to fight especially since their arguments tended to escalate quickly and violently. After all, some things were better left unsaid, weren't they?

For the most part, he'd been staring at the floor, but he looked up when she closed the drapes. He was glad of it; he'd always felt most comfortable when alone with Lore, and he could stop pretending, and she could (literally) let down her hair. Despite the flappers with their bob cuts he seemed to have a penchant for, the reality was exactly the opposite. Darin's eyes causally skimmed over Lore's figure from her golden locks to her smooth gams; he'd be a pushover if she tried to seduce him now. He often let on that he wasn't attracted to her, but that was the entire reason why he had approached her in the first place and gotten himself into his damnable mess.

Shifting gently to the right as Lore walked around him and fetched herself a glass of lemonade, Darin kept still as he listened to her speak, making no indication of taking up the sandwich that she'd pushed towards him. He recalled what she'd been saying before they were so rudely interrupted by their neighborhood peeping Tom. “i don’t have anything planned y—”

It seemed they would be going then. Looking down at the bottom of his now almost empty glass, Darin sloshed around what water remained and sneaked furtive glances at his so-called wife when her back was turned. He wondered distantly if she knew he hated mayonnaise, always had, but the first time she'd made him a sandwich, he'd felt too out of place to mention it, and now -- well, now it was too late to tell her tactfully. He smirked a little. How pathetic was he, really, taking such pains in a marriage that wasn't even real. It was part of the reason why he hated going places with Lore -- at least, anywheres their neighbors might threaten to be. This pretense of being an amorous couple with a bright future together and possibly kids sometime -- it was exhausting to say the least and irritating too. He'd actually been hoping that she did have something Wednesday night or maybe he would, but as it stood, he'd simply have to suffer through it. He just desperately hoped they didn't bring any awkward subjects to the table -- such as his whoring tendencies to which he readily admitted, just not in front of other people. Lore might have been fine with it (seeing as she never brought it up nor objected), but Phil and Nancy wouldn't understand - couldn't - because they were too -- too... different. In that respect, Lore was correct, but in the others...

He hated hearing her curse, and she knew it. They were such ugly words, and sure, he used them sparingly himself, but hearing them from her -- for some odd reason, he couldn't stomach it. He accepted her apology mutely, but when she looked at him, he averted his eyes. Flicking them down, Darin inspected the grooves in between the alternating slate blue and grey of the tiled floor with sudden feigned interest. In the few months they'd been married, he'd been finding it increasingly difficult to remain completely unattached, emotionally that is. The fact that they were having sex behind the scenes and living together probably had something to do with it.

“i’m absolutely touched by the offer, but i’m staying home tonight. maybe we could see a movie, y’know… play husband and wife.”

This caught Darin's attention, and he lifted his head up with an amused arch of the brow. Play husband and wife? What a novel idea! Maybe if they played husband and wife, they could actually be husband and wife or at least something reminiscent of it.

“i’ve missed those arms of yours, you bimbo,”

Darin smirked as she began running her arms across his and down his abs, and he subsequently wrapped his arms around her petite figure, pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. "Trying to seduce me, are you? I can't say I quite understand why seeing as we're already married, and there's not much more you can seduce out of me."

He paused for a moment when she said "I love you" and, as if to distract himself from having to respond, looked briefly to the spot where Roger had been squatting. The dog had padded out of the kitchen long ago, having bored of Lore's negligence and most likely scrounging around for the cat.

“i don’t—i don’t mean it like i usually do. really. i mean it this time.”

Resettling his placid gaze on Lore, he noticed her nervous fidgeting with some confusion and considered for a moment longer before casually saying, "You know I love you too."

The words slipped from his lips easily, and it wasn't something that he said often, but in the little while that they'd been married, it had become a necessity to give people the impression of a healthy and robust marriage. He didn't say it with anymore conviction now than he did when he was on the phone with Lore, and he slipped it in at the end simply because it was expected of him. It didn't mean that he didn't - well - mean it, but it wasn't a subject upon which Darin liked to dwell (though he often found himself dwelling upon it in spite of himself). Did she know how much she messed him up? Exactly how much she affected him? Or that those quiet moments in the morning when they were in bed together after a night of drunken screaming and mindless sex were the mornings he relished most? Probably not, and it was for the best that it remained that way. He loved her like he had his sister -- but more? He shied away from the topic. Wasn't this enough for now?

With a wavering smile, Darin added, "You're awfully...affectionate, today. And...about what you said earlier -- you're not. You're not as fucked up as you think you are. Would your husband lie to you?"

There was a teasing lilt at the end, but for the most part, he meant it. He didn't like hearing Lore disparage herself either. Pressing her a bit closer against his body and enjoying the warmth of her skin against his own, Darin inhaled Lore's scent and exhaled it with a quiet sigh. "We should spend more time together," he murmured more so to himself than to her and more so as an afterthought than a standalone suggestion.

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