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[/b][/h3][/sup][/color][/row][row][cell][sup][h2][color=black]FREYA BRIGHAM[/color][/h2][/sup]
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[sup][color=black][b]█  [sup]   [/sup]act one: way down we go[/b][/color][/sup][indent][sup][color=a9a9a9]bayfront airbnb [color=black]▸[/color] p. johnson's[/color][/sup][/indent][center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/824488408562794527/970459343667494932/unknown.png[/img][/center][sub][color=#2e2c2c]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/sub][/cell][cell][center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/824488408562794527/967592442486460476/unknown.png[/img][/center]
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The stillness that greeted her was surprising at first, a stark contrast to the cacophony conducted by the ever-bustling streets of New York. Mornings were usually hectic and productive to a fault, filled with daily meetings and review sessions with key members of the team. It was a nice change of pace then, however slightly unsettling, to wake up to nothing but the distant calls of birds and the calming rustling of trees. Freya decided to take her morning tea out on the deck. Out there, highlighted by an early ray of sun and tickled by the cool breeze, she was drenched in a wave of nostalgia.

She hummed a soft tune that randomly came to mind. Ah, Billy played that song before, didn't he?

Freya hadn't realized how much she missed Delton until now. For a while, it had been a distant memory; a quiet, nagging regret that lingered in the corner of her mind. After they left so suddenly all those years ago, Delton was never again brought up. If it weren't for Hanna, she might have believed their time there really was just a dream. Her former hometown continued to be a sore spot for her mom, apparently so deeply damaging to her psyche that she would sooner give up half her estates than set foot back there. They never talked about what transpired in that quaint city; not about Ritman or the Bistro. Not about their friends and neighbors. And especially not about her father, whose whereabouts remained unknown to them. Only the frequent transfers to her account signaled he was alive and thriving somewhere in the world.

She couldn't take another year with this mystery unsolved; it was like an itch she couldn't scratch, bothering her all these years. When their magazine partnered with a photographer based in Maine, Freya immediately volunteered to handle the shoot and even agreed to model, an offer she usually declined. It was the justification she needed. She won't be able to back out from this, even if she were to get cold feet, as she had many times before.

[right]⇢ ⇢ ⇢[/right]

Freya wouldn't have time to explore the town until after their little reunion. She arrived at her Airbnb rental the night before, already too late to go out and wander about. Today's docket, meanwhile, had her glued to the computer from morning until late afternoon. She thought about taking a lunch break at the Bistro, but a twinge in her heart immediately shut down the idea. 

She settled for a protein bar and focused on the next thing on her agenda. Work was easy, therapeutic almost, and within moments she fell into her usual routine. It wasn't until things started winding down that she became once again conscious of her unfamiliar environment. Somehow, in this peaceful silence, everything else seemed louder: the clacking of her keys as she drafted an email to the team, the melodic peals of the windchime that came with every gentle breeze, the incessant dinging of her phone as a barrage of notifications began to fill the screen. Freya heaved a sigh and even that echoed in the empty room.  

[color=#64748b][b]"Trending again already,"[/b][/color] she noted with a wry smile. 

Was it even worth checking at this point? Usually it was inoffensive blather, just a bunch of tweets praising or critiquing her outfit at an event. Once in a while, it was the juicy stuff. Affairs and alleged pregnancies and did she break up with her actor boyfriend already? She thought she would have escaped this world of scandals and gossip by now, but its grasp on her never loosened, pulling her deeper and deeper into its clutches instead.

More notifications, a handful of text messages, six missed calls from mom. Freya ignored all that and laugh-reacted to an innocuous Facebook post by Jack instead.

[right]⇢ ⇢ ⇢[/right]

It was their former chauffeur that insisted on driving her around town when he heard about her visit. Once upon a time, Lloyd made car rides and road trips with her parents bearable. She didn't think she could ever pay him back for the warmth and kindness he'd shown her all those years ago. When he greeted her with a welcoming hug and a fond [i]"look how much you've grown,"[/i] she nearly burst into a blubbering mess of tears.

The drive to P. Johnson's was short, barely enough time to prepare herself – although she wasn't exactly sure what she was preparing for, or even why she had to. It just felt like something she should be ready for, like a big presentation where she has to be in full control. Freya stalled just long enough to compose herself. Another deep, centering breath had done the trick, and after she bid Lloyd farewell, all her nerves washed away...

...only to bubble up again at the sound of Sara's voice.

Freya faltered slightly as she walked in, but masterfully masked the quiver of her lips with a half-smile. Familiar and foreign all at once, the sight of Sara brought with it a burst of fond memories and resurfaced guilt. She never got to say goodbye to her, did she? Just up and left without a word, not even a measly text, after she promised she would be there for her after what happened with Will.

Seated across from her was another alumnus--ah, his name was at the tip of her tongue. Eric? No, Lucas, that's right. Freya had every intention of joining them, she swore she did. But her willful feet betrayed her and kept her rooted by the bar's entrance.

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