too shaky to hold

[kitty smith-sato]

An uneasy feeling had settled in the pit of Kitty's stomach, finding itself plenty of space since it was entirely devoid of food. It had started when she fell out with Henry two days prior. His face was burned into her mind, his hair still tousled, sweat drying on his skin from the quickie they had managed to squeeze in before his practice. The feeling of his arms around her waist as she dressed, how his body had gone rigid when he caught a glimpse in the mirror she had been inspecting herself in, something still and terrifying coming over his features. She shakes her head to rid herself of it, her Tudor headdress threatening to slip from her silky hair though she rights it, smoothing her other hand down the emerald velvet of her stiff custom mini dress. "Get it together," she mutters, rejoining the party and making a beeline for the booze, her tongue dry against the roof of her mouth. Her uneasiness is compounded by the gossip she was very recently privy to, irritated both that her friend had been targeted and that she didn't have a clue who the culprit was. To take her mind off her own unsteady ground, she decided to focus on this mystery, confident that if she could right that wrong everything else would start to fall into place. In service of this she takes her signature rosé champagne and saunters over to a boy she knows to have had dalliances with Sky, smiling sweetly in the hopes of an easy confession. "Wyatt baby, long time no see," she beams, letting him kiss her on each cheek. "In fact, I thought I'd have seen you at Schuyler's little birthday soiree. Where were you? Surely you didn't have a better offer."

[calvin keller]

"Sky...Schuyler...it's fine, ok? They're down." Calvin flicks aggressively against the screen of his phone again, the anonymous instagram account devoid of its previous content. Over the speaker his younger sister's sobs settle from heaves into whimpers, and he hates further that it tugs at his heart so much that they exist at all. Though he always claimed distance, Cal's affection for his sister ran blood deep, something he couldn't manage to excise over the years and only clotting further when things like this happened. Damning photos of her a little too drunk, costume shifting promiscuously out of place he prayed was by her own accidental doing, making out against some wall with some guy at some party she thought to be private. Instead she'd been subjected to internet humiliation, wickedly worded captions garnering way too many likes by people who probably existed in that room. Who claimed to be her friend and instead giggled as a hand slid up over her thigh. Cal's rage only tips further, focus narrowing and narrowing on the likely culprit. It's what had happened to him, after all. An innocuous e-mail, a perfectly timed photo post of him dredging across the grounds, hand slipped out of his pocket for a moment. A second. It's all it had taken to have him rolling his eyes in the dean's office, feeling his mother's gaze heat his neck. "It'll be fine, ok? We'll figure out who did it, I promise." He can tell his voice sounds anything but soothing but it works, Schuyler agreeing to get some sleep as she hung up on the phone. He knew she wouldn't but the lie could carry him through, tossing back a couple shots in quick succession before his car finally showed to take him to his own party. He'd barely remembered to put on the Fallout costume he'd ordered, tugging the prop ammunition rounds and various accessories over the garish blue before the car pulled up to whatever location Dom had provided. Something abandoned on the outside but completely decked out on the inside, barely acknowledging the transformation as his gaze swung around. He knew she'd be easy to spot simply because that was who Kitty was, catching her stunning features on the edge of a light and not thinking twice before he gripped her by the elbow and dragged her out of her current conversation. He doesn't even dare look her way before he set his jaw, puts enough distance between them and whoever else would likely enjoy the show, and rips her around to face him. "I always knew you were a two-faced bitch, Kitty, but this is fucking low. Even for you."

[violet spencer]

Violet was officially out of jail..with her father. Given the green light of coastal travel just in time for Dominic's party. The restrictions that had been in put into play following her discharge from rehab, were slowly peeling away. Her mother had put in a word for her after their trip to London for the vow renewal ceremony. What her father didn't know was that she'd actually not been the perfect little angel. That she'd been promising. Attending meetings, arriving home at the given curfew hour. She'd just found a way to be a little more quiet, and deceiving. All of which had part of plan she'd initiated, the within those four, white walls of hell. Things were looking up..or so she thought. Tonight she'd chosen a green, glittery dress. Violet added a lime clip into her hair and gave her margarita halloween costume her final approval before departing. Funny and ironic, given the addiction recently battled. Violet puckers her lips for a selfie in the mirror, shooting the picture off to her sponsor, so he could enjoy. The small talk was always the worst at these sort of functions. Nodding her head, laughing at jokes she didn't necessarily understand. She'd seen Kitty  enter the party, but still felt like a distance needed to be kept from her former best friend. They'd been cordial in front of family, their parents were best friends after all. These were different grounds. And alone. The other two members of their group missing so far. Dom and Violet had recently made amends. His voice boasting in the hallway, pulls her attention away from a girl's story. Dom's presence makes Violet shake her head, a smile lifting on glossed lips. Reminding her of the little surprise she had planned for his birthday. He's  closer now, laughing about someone's ridiculous costume. Violet excuses herself from the conversation, no longer able to wait. Anxious to please her friend.  "Come with me right now." Pulling him into the nearby bathroom, she opens up her purse. "I have a birthday present for you. Also a I'm-sorry-forgive-me-let's-try-this-again, moment."

[dominic vinten cuvo]

“God I love churches!” he had said hours ago, gazing up at Limelight, admiring the view with almost the same thrill inspired by his beach carousel. This was rude, sacrilegious and taboo—of course it felt like his greatest idea yet, the mixing of those things he loved to evoke and forcing everyone else’s participation. Gia Cuvo herself had stories of the place during its infamy, the deconsecrated church a mainstay in the 80s and 90s nightlife circuit. Looking up at the stained glass and Gothic Revival architecture of it stood against its Chelsea neighbors, Dominic felt briefly, temporarily, interested in life again. Inside it is spectacular albeit too clean for his liking. Dom wants it dusty, dark and dingy, like a place they were breaking into rather than exorbitantly renting out. His mind reels to the past, imagining cage dancers, club kids and drag queens, the notorious shampoo room. Per usual his soul aches, cursing himself for being born in the wrong era, stuck with the aftermath of its greatness now. But for the purposes of a Halloween party, it will do. The next pressing question was what to dress as: a plague doctor (why hide his face?), H. H. Holmes (the mustache tickled), an 18th century body snatcher (too many cumbersome props)? At one point he tried to convince Kitty into being Judith so he could be Holofernes—with his head still on, of course. He knew she would be Anne Boleyn and he was resigned to Henry VIII (despite the unflattering silhouette) until he remembered that he hated the name and scrapped the costume without telling her. Instead, after much research into church hierarchy, he showed up in an outfit reminiscent of the pope, second-in-command of Catholicism. For his own private pleasure, the papal cassock was crafted from the bloodied sheets of their carving night. Naturally, the red mantle he had made, expensive and gold-embellished, featured upside-down crosses and his engraved initials. How much time had already passed, he didn’t know, tugging at his collar as if a rash were beginning to blossom, his body rejecting the very air of religion. Several drinks in his systems, plucking a few pills from the candy bowls, Pope Dominic floated about the church to visit his guests and appraise their costumes, commending the unique and obscure, chiding the redundant or store-bought, searching for members of his clergy. “I’m having a religious awakening,” he would begin, drunk on the attention and compliments, like maybe he could lean into this after all. About to start his newest monolog, Dominic found himself being pulled away by the slight arm he was peeved to identify as belonging to Violet. Seeing her costume up close, he realized he should have assigned roles instead of allowing for individuality; it took away from his still-forming fantasy. The dark slash of his brow cocks higher, Dom intrigued but suspicious. “You will not fool me a second time,” he warned at the sight of her purse contents. He nearly laughed—it’s not like they couldn’t do this out in the open, powdery tabletop mirrors on display around every corner. Dominic licked a fingertip and stuck it into her stash offering, rolling the powder around his fingertips, assessing the quality via touch. Was this a ruse, was he already paranoid in thinking she was tricking him a second time, or worse…poisoning him!? His own vial screams from his papal pocket, refusing to touch his garments to the disgusting bathroom wall by leaning on his hand instead, watching her darkly. “Go on. You first.”

[kitty smith-sato]

Her mental rolodex is working overtime, populating a tree of acquaintances that spread out from the boy in front of her, a spread of people who could potentially wish Schuyler harm being mentally interrogated by Kitty for a motive. She settles on her current prime suspect, a girl named Blythe who'd been sweet on Wyatt since their school days and who looked like knockoff Sky. Katherine nods at his throwaway excuse, narrowing her eyes though her lips still carried their sweet smile. "Oh really? Because I heard you'd taken Blythe to Nobu?" A waver in his reaction intensifies her scrutiny, though before she can continue this she's yanked away, Calvin's hand firm at her elbow. She almost trips over herself to keep up, the ferocity of the gesture making her heatbeat race. She barely has time to register what's going on when he rounds on her, the strength of his feeling curdling the thrill of his attention into shock. She straightens her stiff mini dress, brushing off her sleeve as she fought to compose herself, straightening her headdress. "Don't ever fucking touch me like that again," she hisses, narrowing her almond eyes at him now. It takes a moment for his vague accusation to register, stinging though she gives herself over to her fury, not wanting to be caught short by hurt. "What are you even talking about?" She thinks for a moment, managing to push through the surging adrenaline at such an abrupt accusation. She lowers her voice, hoping her irritation would mask her disbelief. "...You seriously think that was me?"

[calvin keller]

It's such a stark contrast, staring at her now. Calvin's mind whips suddenly to Japan, the gloss of her hair in the moonlight and the cut of the blinds against her skin. The sinking, infinite silence. He'd wondered then if she'd felt the same sense of inevitability, as if they'd clawed to the top of each other's walls and had nothing to do but fall. She'd wet her lip, the quick flash of her tongue. He'd held her pulse, the slope of her neck under thumb. Then it was nothing, just frozen in time, slipping away and now burning furiously from his mind. Vulnerability had always been her vice, after all, and he'd allowed his sister to fall prey to it. He couldn't tell if he hated himself or Kitty more for it, scoffing at her snarl. "Don't play dumb, it's not a good look on you." The wild oscillation of her features, the strange understanding that for a moment she'd liked it, watching the anger overcome her. Knowing it would barely hold a candle to his rage, arms cast out wide at her attempt to deny it. Even in her heels he towered, using it to his advantage. "Of course it was you, Kitty. Has your name alll fucking over it! The anonymous account, the stupid caption you probably thought was clever...you set her up the second I thought I could trust you. And you want to know the funniest fucking part?" His lips twist in a sick grin, eyes lowered as he shook his head. "I'm the only one who's kept all your secrets this whole time. Henry, Violet, Dom...though I doubt you trusted him to keep his mouth shut. He'd paint that he fucked you on the Berlin Wall if he could." Calvin takes another swig of his drink, barely tasting it under the static of hysteria. "Anyway, that changes now. Hope it's been worth it."

[kitty smith-sato]

Were serial killers sometimes held responsible for kills that weren't their own handiwork? Kitty supposed they must be, eager police departments keen to reduce their caseloads, unconvinced by the narcissistic claims from confessed murderers insisting that the similarities were surface level. That this was clumsy work, at best an imitator and at worst an absolute amateur, unfit for comparison. Couldn't Calvin see that this wasn't her style? How could he square the girl near tears at her cousin's dismissal with a girl who'd do that to someone she had agreed was off limits? How could she square the boy who'd defended her to said cousin with the one stood before her now, pure vitriol burning in his glare? Calvin lists the hallmarks and with each one her hope for exoneration dims. He could square this girl with that one because she was that girl, always had been, as he knew first hand. For once her stature makes her feel short, not petite. To anyone else she would play victim, use her height to cower and make herself seem vulnerable, but that won't fly now. So she stands impossibly still, letting everything wash over her in a terrible flood of consequences. Of course Dom had blabbed. A spark of fury against the flood of hopelessness. She resists saying that the Great Wall of China would have been a better choice of metaphor, wondering if he'd thought of it but subbed in Berlin so as to seem less racially loaded. These pedantic thoughts are rafts in the sea of her panic, giving her brain something to cling to though they submerge as soon as she gets any sort of purchase. Finally the threat is hanging between them and the color drains from her face, her whole body rigid. Something is about to break and she doesn't want it to, and not just because it was inconvenient for her. When she speaks her voice isn't frail but it is quiet, unsteady, a prayer she already knows will go as unanswered as all the others. "Calvin, please don't. Please."

[calvin keller]

God, she was a viper. Attacking when he felt off balance, when the first ounce of comfort seeped into his blood. But instead of his own neck she'd gone for one much more delicate, watching Kitty's body coil, then still. Waiting for the cruel deliverance of her next move, always one step ahead. Always knowing he'd felt so uneasy around her, in ways that both exhilarated and terrified him. Now though, now he wanted to hold her throat in his hands again. Be a reason that life drains out of her, widened eyes likely reminiscent of the reddened tinge his sister's held. It's why her plea is unexpected, Cal stifling the harsh edge of a laugh. "What makes you think you deserve that, Kitty?" He almost dares her to answer, the bandolier of bullets clattering against his chest as he leans ever closer. "What makes you think you deserve any kind of sympathy right now? Humor me. I'm actually curious." It's a ridiculous notion that he'd let her walk away again. Not when he held all the leverage, finally gaining an upper hand he'd lost when she's cast him out so long ago. He could have drifted then, but watching it burn from the inside suddenly felt like an even sweeter retribution, scanning the shimmering bodies for his intended targets. "Sky, of all people..." he shakes his head, pity the sham on his tone. "It's a hell of your own making. You'll just have to live with that."

[kitty smith-sato]

She wishes she was anywhere but here. To her absolute mortification, she can feel the sting of tears starting to form in her eyes, frustration bubbling up inside her at the injustice of being punished for a crime she didn't commit. But she had committed so many similar crimes that it hardly seemed to matter, and when Calvin asks her to explain why she deserves mercy she comes up short of an answer, taking her lip between her teeth and biting hard to try and stem the tears. Managing to avoid the embarrassment of crying, she glances away, looking around to see if anyone was registering what was going on. No sign of Dom or Violet, which was some comfort. "Because I didn't do it," she repeats quietly, speaking instinctively, hearing herself how hollow the words sound on her tongue.  The mention of his sister's name sends a surge of defiance through her, a flash of anger finally visible in her eyes when she meets his again. "You're going to punish me and you're going to pat yourself on the back for it, fine, go ahead. I told you I wouldn't and I meant it, so much so that I'm going to do what you're too incompetent to do and I'll find out who did, so your stupidity doesn't let them get away with it." The tears are forming in her eyes and that infuriates her more, making her want to scream into the void of this room full of people she wished were dead. "And when I do and you want to thank me, remember that I didn't do it for you and I don't want to hear it. You'll be dead to me."

[calvin keller]

"Because I didn't do it." Kitty barely seems to have it in her to attempt the lie that comes, Cal rolling his eyes. "Solid effort," he deadpans, watching carefully at the storm surging around her eyes. Anger at being caught or the realization that she was out of time he didn't know and barely cared to find out, again sweeping his gaze across the crowds. Where was Dom? Likely about to rise out of a coffin somewhere, while Cal was looking to send Kitty to an early grave. When her voice sounds again he looks back down, almost surprised to find something quiet in her features. Defiance. Two could play at that game. "Oh, how valiant. Right a wrong you supposedly have nothing to do with by...how, exactly? Taking someone else down instead? You'll just uncover all your old tracks because you've done this so many times before." It's the first time he's ever felt Kitty to be predictable, her threats barely striking as Cal finally cracked a laugh. "It won't matter, Kitty," he says directly, bending to meet her at eye level. "Because you'll be dead to anyone that matters to you long before then."

[dominic vinten cuvo]

Watching his friend hover over the powder, Dominic felt his heart swell with pride. As if he were guiding a parishioner through a prayer, scrutinizing her form and the strength of her inhale, resisting applause when she pulled back to her height and he confirmed the black saucers of her pupils. “That’s my girl,” he beamed with a toothy grin that almost felt reptilian against the strain of his botox, patiently waiting his turn to indulge. He reeled up from the surface with a groan, head tipping back as the lovely acrid mucus dripped down the column of his throat, joining the cesspool of his stomach contents. “It’s just like a riding a bicycle, isn’t it?” he asked of her, as if he knew anything about setting down a substance long enough to quit it. Nonetheless he was relieved that Violet was finally freed from her prison of sobriety; his friend group could finally feel whole again. The drugs working through his system softened the former betrayal he felt toward Violet, having nearly forgotten the reason until she mentioned her recent sexual escapade. While yes, he was thrilled that she’d finally fucked someone, Dominic was dismayed to find out whom, wishing he possessed the ability to smite someone. But he supposed he would have to work his way up to that power. “Oh that’s disgusting, Violet,” he chuckled at her explicit details, swiping his thumb to the dribble beneath her nostril and bringing it to his lips. No residue to be wasted under his watch. After much gossip and several lines holed up in the bathroom together like they were still in middle school, Dominic finally ushered her out, hoping nobody assumed they’d hooked up because that would sully his reputation. Everything was bright and shiny again. Dominic wondered if he had grown a halo and was levitating above the floor, scanning the crowd, feeling the music pulse in his dirty blood, grabbing at the nearest tray of drinks floating by. A generous pope, both his hands became weighty with glasses as he spotted Calvin and Kitty, oblivious to their flaming body language as he danced his way over to them with Violet in tow. Animosity be damned, he would have these girls settling their grudge in no time. His first miracle of the night. “Welcome, my disciples,” he greeted though he had already seen them several times during the party. He felt born-again, to his friendship and outrageously good cocaine. "I come bearing gifts," he announced, extending the fresh drinks and straightening the edges of his mantle. He had just baptized Violet in the bathroom, after all. His dark gaze darted about his friends' costumes and his uniform. "We really should have coordinated a theme."

[kitty smith-sato]

The reality that this was truly going to happen was one Kitty was rapidly trying to adapt to. Watching as Calvin looked out to the crowds, inevitably searching for the familiar figure of Dominic, bedecked in a suitable costume. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. Calvin is ranting at her but at this point she's stopped listening, too busy trying to formulate a plan, hoping she could spot their wayward friend before he did. Realizing Dominic was not present in the swarm of beautiful people swirling nearby, she finally turns her attention back to Calvin, finishing off her champagne in time to hear his attempt to turn her comment back on her. She places the empty flute on a nearby surface with practised indifference. "You need to calm down, your execution will be sloppy."  Regaining composure, she resists the urge to smooth out her costume for the umpteenth time, ignoring the way her blood seems to be barrelling through her veins. Fine. Game time. Despite the panic she was suppressing, despite the heat it would put her under, there was an incorrigible part of her that salivated at the thought of burning everything down, even if the 'everything' in question was her entire life. At least the boredom she had been so steeped in was diminished, though the sudden appearance of the man of the hour makes her heartbeat quicken. Ignoring Violet's very existence as she had done for the last few weeks, she turns to Dom, taking the drink and giving him an icy glare. "Have you ever heard of pontifical secrecy, Dominic?"

[violet spencer]

She feels giddy, offering valuable treats to one of her best friends. The action feeling so normal, just as things were before. Forgotten from her mind are the nerves that Violet felt around her favorite past time. Erased by a night with Calvin, the pair indulging in some good, harmless fun. Something they seemed to do much of lately, the two of them. Closer than ever before. Dom offers a lot of hesitancy, of course making her go first. Rolling her eyes, she hovers her body over powder and snorts. Feeling the immediate effects of alertness, mixed with power. A familiar sensation overcoming, something she'd longed for so many months in her own personal hell. Laughing as Dom gives her a dramatic clap, praising her for returning to their little game. He's next up, repeating the actions she'd just taken. They spend a few more moments together in the bathroom, gossiping about the breaking news of her recent dry spell ending. She mutters a few shut ups as he looks at her with disgust (stating so too), just before he ushers them out of the bathroom. The drugs coursing through her veins has Violet feeling as she's on cloud nine. Able to face anything, such as Kitty or any one else she'd recently made an enemy out of. Which is who she assumes Dom is looking for as he drags her along, through the crowds which were forming amongst the partygoers. Or Calvin. Violet had yet to catch a glimpse of him, eyes searching while they moved. Dom's body language changing when they've eventually been found, with each other, actually. His tone is cheerful, dubbing them his disciplines. But the way Calvin's expression was hardened, should've been a warning that they were walking into danger.. but her mind wasn't thinking properly right now. She looks down at the fresh drink she didn't remember grabbing. His enthusiasm isn't returned, as Violet tries to read Calvin's face. Finally noticing something was off.. "Uh oh, what have we walked into?" Just as Kitty fires an icy glare (at someone other than her, thank god) and begins interrogating Dominic.

[dominic vinten cuvo]

He is willfully ignorant of the lion’s den they seem to be walking into. It hardly felt any different than usual, their dynamics so mercurial it was hard to keep track of who was mad at whom, which secrets were actually secrets, how many knives a back could hold. Since London had passed peacefully and Dominic’s birthday without issue (or group sex, sadly), he was under the preferable illusion that all was well within their friend sphere. As much as it could be, anyway. It could never be how it once was, chasing the dragon. The serration of Kitty’s glare sends a shiver right down his spine. And into his crotch. Since that fateful night in a London hotel suite, Dominic’s special attention on Kitty had turned into a terrible magnifying glass. Their usual wild swings between devastating love and violet hatred were currently stuck at the former, Dominic wanting more of her body and time and willingness. Always more until he broke them. But there was always a fast tipping point, too, as if they became jaded or spooked by overindulgence. In his life he felt the ripples of a paradigm shift, finally having Kitty as he’d always wanted, his longest pursuit and greatest passion besides art history. Surprisingly, the fire had yet to quench, breaking his infamous rule for her. He looms over his Tudor beauty, taking her in. “No, but it sounds incredibly hot,” he decided, head cocking to the side in intrigue. He wondered if he might ply Kitty into praying to him, or fitting into a confessional together. “Tell me about it, my child.”

[kitty smith-sato]

The iceberg has been struck and Dom seems to be the only one who hadn't noticed. Even Violet, in all Kitty's assumptions of total dimwittedness, has clocked on to the body language between the two of them, staying a wise distance from the warring factions. But it's Dominic who holds her attention now, and Kitty finds that despite the imminent danger she was in, knowing Calvin was in fact the iceberg, she still feels a sense of betrayal towards her supposed brother. Calvin had mentioned it as if it was stupid of her to think so but she had truly believed that Dom would have kept their dalliance between them, and hearing that he hadn't sullied it for her, weakening the sense of intimacy that had had her practically mooning over him for the last few weeks. Looking at him now, her heart has the temerity to be if not broken than certainly fractured, though she's sure that's at least partially down to the knowledge that she had betrayed him too. "It's the belief that some things in the church are sacred," she says through gritted teeth, staring him down. "That some things are so sacred that they shouldn't be talked about."