Kaiidth

Hobey-Ho Let's Go!

@Kaiidth I ALMOST SCREAMED! If you ever wanna RP this please (PLEASE!) Message me. Otherwise, thank you for making my night haha

@ShankySpice

Haha, oh no! Sorry I gave you false hope! I will try to keep it on the forefront to reread it, I'm pretty sure I rebought them on Audible 😂 I just joined an RP as a female so that'll also let me know how good I am at that before I go volunteering xD

Out of curiosity, did you have plots or themes in mind? Trying to gauge how much of a refresher I'd need lmao.

(Side note: I love that Glee and Maximum Ride made your lists! We should definitely do an RP for something sometime 😂 Preferably after I end one, I'm in three at present fhdhsjsj)

Hobey-Ho Let's Go!

HOBEY-HO! I was obsessed with that series for a while but man, I would be rusty on it now. xD Good luck!!!

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

_{Location: Pines Holler Fairgrounds Interacting with: Silvester @Pumpkin Jackdaw Mentions: Dallas, Clive, Mollie}

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Entering the fairgrounds was bittersweet. It was the first year Valen had the holiday off, but the memories of this time last year still floated through his mind. Even in uniform, keeping the motley throng in check, he'd tracked Dallas's whereabouts. He had stayed in her perimeter, using every spare moment to tug her lithe form into the shadows to sneak an impromptu kiss, or else allowed his callused hand to ghost over her waist as he breezed by on patrol.

It wouldn't be anything like that this year.

He hoped to God he didn’t have the misfortune of running into Evermore—or worse, the two of them together. He hadn't spotted either one, but he’d only just cleared the crowded entrance. Instead, he was thrown off guard by the sight of Mollie; after everything she'd been saying, he wanted to see her about as much as the convict. Grimacing, he hunched his shoulders to duck past her place in line for a funnel cake, absently walking until a scent—sweet and bold—had him staggering to a halt. His slightly bleary eyes struggled to read the sign over the stall, but it was undeniably Mexican food.

He came up to the stand just as a young woman was leaving, leaning his arms heavily on the surface as he inhaled the air surrounding the grill. A vague amusement surfaced as the older man behind the counter grumbled a response after the retreating girl. “Ever consider a desk job?” Valen asked passively. His hazy brain observed the familiar profile of the man, now certain he was the owner of the local antique store. As he waited, he wracked his memory trying to recall the man's name—remembering him as one of the few men in town he'd yet to pick up a bad vibe from.

The benefit of being one of the only non-American food vendors meant quite a fair number of people walked up to Silvester’s stall. A fair few he recognized, like the man staring at him now He’d recognized the officer as a new edition to Pines. Well, not new per se, since four years wasn’t that short of a time, but for a lot of locals he’d probably stay new until he died here. ”I’d say my job is a desk job,” Silvester replied with a grin as he set a tortilla on the hot plate and flipped over some corn on the grill, ”Don’t have a lot of folks wandering in to do anything but sit at a desk, officer.”

He paused for a moment, then turned to look at him full as he closed the grill lid. ”Why do you ask? Planning on offering me something at the precinct? I’m not near pretty enough to be a secretary I don’t think.”

Valen felt his mouth twist at the unusually playful response from the older man, making a passive hum in acknowledgement. The alcohol was causing his responses to lag, but he hoped it wouldn't be apparent to anyone else. “Lifting furniture and heavy antiques doesn't really fall under the jurisdiction of a desk job. It's… Silvester, right?” he asked, once he had settled on one of the names rattling around in his head that seemed the most likely match.

He watched the grill for a bit, distracted by a sudden hunger pang as it sizzled, before lifting his eyebrows as the rest of the conversation caught up with him. He squinted at the man's face—which, as far as men were concerned, he was sure many women would find attractive. He lifted his shoulder as he replied, “You haven't seen our secretary, then.” He paused to lift his chin towards the food at Silvester's back. "That the… ee-loht?" he asked, his butchered pronunciation awkward on his tongue. "Ee-low-tee...?”

Silvester turned, toward the grill, opening it to let the smoke billow out like the chuckle from his lips. Wonky Spanish pronunciation occurred much more often around this time of year, seeing as how he had a menu of a wide number of Spanish words for the locals to stumble over. It didn’t bother him. Often times it gave Silvester a small laugh, but mostly he ignored it. Hearing it from Officer Lockwood, though, he could only really describe the feeling as endeared.

”Eh-loh-teh,” he said, slow and deliberate as his tongs plucked one of the corn from the grill. He looked over at Valen, a softness to his smile, while he coated the corn with crema and mayo and sprinkled it with a heavy dose of Tajin. ”On the house,” he offered.

”And, yes, it’s Silvester. Some folks like to call me Sal because my name is a mouthful,” Silvester said as he leaned against the side of his stall counter. It was nice to have a slow moment to just chat with someone familiar, ”Officer Lockwood, yes? I’d joke about having muscle to help me move that heavy furniture around, but I’ve made do with my own for years now. Keeps an old man in shape.”

“Eh-loh-teh,” Valen repeated, the word still coming out flat compared to how Silvester had said it. He shrugged, offering a faint smile that faltered under the other man's unexpected gesture of kindness. “You must be out of the gossip ring," he said after a beat, withdrawing his wallet to slide more bills across the counter than was necessary. Drunk or not, the overpayment was intentional.

After shoving the leather fold into his back pocket, he tugged the plate closer—noting there was no way he'd be eating the thing without making a mess. Considering it was a damn holiday, however, sticky finger foods were an anticipated highlight of the day. He lifted the loaded cob and took a massive bite, letting out a subtle, pleased grunt as the rich flavors spilled over his tongue. He gave a short, wordless nod while he chewed to convey his kudos, speaking only after he'd swallowed a second mouthful.

“Sal. I should be able to remember that," he replied, failing to keep his alcohol-thinned focus from drifting right back to Dal at the similarity. It was a fleeting thought before his mind turned over to his own unwanted nickname—not that ‘Val’ was one he ever willingly promoted.

He let out another gruff laugh, shaking his head once before opting for another bite. "Officer Lockwood is off duty. I'm saddled with a mouthful of a name too, but Valen is just fine,” he answered, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth to attempt some form of manners.

“Well, seems to me your creaky knees are in disagreement. I drive by often enough if you actually need some help lifting. My joints are still in top form," he joked, polishing off the street fare with more enthusiasm than he would have clocked when he first approached. “That was great, by the way. You should consider adding a kitchen to your shop—I’d have a hard time choosing between that and a beer after work.”

To think someone would recommend he open a kitchen while not a bad idea, in fact it flattered Silvester to his core, it would only ever end up a pipe dream for him. ”Valen,” Silvester nodded, pouring one of the agua frescas, raspberry flavored, into a solo cup and sliding it toward Valen, ”If I could indulge in every dream I’ve ever had, I wouldn’t need to be a rich man.”

For a moment, Silvester considered not taking the money offered, but a kindness offered and returned shouldn’t ever be spurned. His mother told him that and he told Anya that in kind. It helped that it rhymed—made it stick easier in the mind. ”Plus, if I’m to put a kind young officer like you to work, I might as well feed him,” Silvester turned back to tend to the food before it burned as a few more visitors he’d not been familiar with came up with an order of their own. He accepted their money, gave them their food, and turned back to Valen, ”I know we just formally met, but if you do intend on using your fresh joints to help me out, it’d be unkind of me not to offer you a meal. No need for a kitchen extension, after all.”

Silvester offers a small mutter to himself, ”I know it’d get my daughter to stop complaining about too many leftovers.”

“Thanks,” Valen murmured as the crimson drink was pushed towards him, accepting the cup gratefully. He took a small sip to sample it. It was damn good—which he was beginning to realize shouldn’t surprise him after the elote—and tilted it back to take several deep gulps.

He leaned more firmly against the stand, letting the comfortable silence stretch between them as Sal paused their talk to help some other customers. He was absently staring into his mostly depleted cup when Sal’s voice started up again. He turned his gaze back to the older man, mindlessly swirling the last of the liquid out of habit. “I’d be hard pressed to turn that down. I’ve never been much of a cook, but I do make a hell of a sandwich.”

He observed Sal as he mumbled a comment, belatedly guessing the one who had yelled across the fairgrounds earlier must have been Sal’s daughter. Valen inclined his head, keeping a relatively straight face. “It's no problem at all. Or if it is… guess you have plenty of Bengay to go around.” Raising an eyebrow as he finished the drink, he crunched the plastic between his fingers before tossing it in the trash nearby.

Of course Valen heard that exchange, which probably confirmed a few more locals milling about probably heard it too. For some reason, it prickled at the back of Silvester’s neck like someone just caught him doing something out of the ordinary in high school. At the very least, Silvester didn’t blush outside of what his ex-wife used to call a wine flush whenever he’d get even a little bit tipsy. ”Well, since I’m the only one who uses it,” Silvester grinned it off, throwing another cob of corn on the grill, ”we don’t run out often. Maybe if I did more stretches before lifting anything I’d not have as many issues. But we aren’t anything without our habits, good or bad, hm?”

With that, Silvester offered a genuine smile and lifted his tong, ”I’ll take you up on that sandwich, though. Nice to have someone else cook for you, for a change. Do you want another, by the way?” Then he pointed toward the big jug of agua fresca, ”Or another of that? The trick to a good agua fresca, by the way, is to beg your mother to make a big batch for you.” He wiggled his eyebrows at that, giving a toothy grin before it broke apart into a warm, chesty laugh like he’d just make a joke that would have his daughter rolling her eyes.

Valen let an easy smile return to his face, finding Sal's friendliness oddly contagious. It was disarming to relax after being on edge all morning about whether to even show up. He didn't respond to the comment about habits—though the words lingered in his mind. He wasn't too sure Sal would be so casual about the topic if he knew the extent of Valen's own, but he was content to let the conversation glide past it without weighing in.

At the offer of more food or drink, he let out a low, breathy laugh before giving his head a firm shake. “I shouldn't if I want to hold my buzz," he admitted, his eyes automatically scanning the surrounding crowd out of routine. “Pass on my compliments to your mother, and thanks for the—” He vaguely waved a hand at the stand in general, appreciative of the company just as much as the food.

Alcohol and fairgoers went hand in hand, Silvester knew that much, so the second Valen mentioned his buzz, he dipped down beneath one of the set up tables and pulled out a bottle of water. ”I say the same to my daughter and I’ll say the same to you, law enforcement or not,” Silvester said, not looking serious so much as sincere as reached out to grab Valen’s waving hand to push the water bottle into it, ”You stay as hydrated as you can, then thank me later. I’d offer you Tylenol for your morning after but I’ll probably be dealing with my own.”

Before Valen could go, however, Silvester grabbed a cup to pour fruit and chamoy into and slid it across to Valen. ”Just in case you or someone you know gets hungry,” he said, stabbing a fork into the cup to end any arguments, ”A gift for the pleasant conversation and a promise for more, hm?”

As the water bottle was thrust into his grip, Valen looked down at it, perplexed—completely floored by the notion that anyone thought he needed hydration to function. He probably did, truth be told, but the staggered explanation about water ruining his alcohol high died on his tongue as another parting gift slid across the counter. He stared at the cup, a deep crease forming between his brows.

“You… are something else,” he settled on, his voice dropping close to a mumble. It was a statement meant more for himself, unable to articulate how misplaced the older man’s thoughtfulness towards him was—particularly since he was actively filling the role as the town pariah. He didn’t decline either offering, however, lifting both of his laden hands awkwardly in a gesture of thanks. “I’m here alone, but I’ll make sure it doesn’t go to waste,” he said, taking a moment to gather his composure back from the overwhelming kindness.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll see you around, Sal. I don’t have a pen on me, but I’ll make sure to drop by sometime. The manual labor should do me good after all this,” he joked, peering down into the fruit cup while having absolutely no clue what the dark, reddish sauce over it actually was.

Regardless of town gossip, to which Silvester never found himself privy to, it never felt right to never give someone a chance. He knew the dangers of that, he felt like, growing up in this town with some of these people. So he simply waved off Valen’s thanks before his hand moved to pick up his tongs again. Silvester gave it a prompt wave as he called out, ”Don’t forget to let yourself have some fun, Valen!” Though he meant it more as a reminder to turn off the work brain, it would surely help as a general reminder, even to himself.

”And I’ll just call the non-emergency line if I need any help before I get your number,” Silvester ended with a joke, though he furrowed his brows as he looked down at his grill, mumbling some kind of self-deprecation in Spanish to himself while he scratched at his head.

Valen had already taken several steps away, but he still managed to raise his fruit cup overhead in a silent salute.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

_{Location: Husker's Bar → Pines Holler Fairgrounds Interacting with: N/A Mentions: Dallas, Clive, Ettie}

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His first day out of uniform started off at Huskers, glass of whiskey in hand with a full bottle within arm’s reach. While it wasn’t standard practice for staff to allow patrons an entire bottle, the bartenders knew him well enough to save themselves a headache. He didn’t intend to drink the whole thing—but he’d said as much before.

Still, he wasn’t about to prove Dallas’ fears correct. He knew his drinking was a problem, but frankly, not in the sense that she thought. Alcohol may have been what brought his demons out, but it didn’t create them. He and Dallas were good together—he firmly believed that—but the relationship had ultimately unearthed a darker side to himself he’d never seen before, and it was one he would fight like hell to never show again. After having months to reflect on his unforgivable behavior, he knew it was his buried past that was the cause more than the alcohol.

It was a broken heart that duct-tape and desperation weren’t enough to actually heal. Yet Valen didn’t believe in shrinks any more than he believed in meds. Apparently, time didn’t do a damn thing either, so he wasn’t sure what the hell kind of fix was left. At least not one that wouldn’t have a stranger trying to refer him right back to a shrink or meds.

He’d known since the start she was too good for him, and certainly much too young—though the last part seemed irrelevant now that she’d moved onto someone even older than he was. He took another swig, staring blankly at his now half-empty bottle. Clive Evermore… He let out a derisive scoff. Of course she’d get taken in by a man who was absolutely wrong for her. The more word spread that the two were becoming involved, the more he’d found himself fixating. Despite the man's shady history, the townsfolk didn’t seem to harbor any ill will towards him—which left Valen wondering what they knew that he didn’t.

He could have asked someone like Ettie, who seemed to have an open ear for every conversation in town, but he didn't actually keep close enough ties to ask. Besides, he didn’t actually care to know. He needed to hold onto the belief that Clive was a lowlife. It left him with a last shred of hope that maybe there was still a space for him to redeem himself. Though sitting at the bar, downing the last of his glass, was probably not the best way to go about that.

Ten minutes later, his tab was paid and Valen was standing in the parking lot, scraping the paint off his Explorer with the key—not that he cared. The number of scratches surrounding the keyhole were enough that he’d stopped being annoyed about it years ago. Once he’d slumped into the driver’s seat, it was a short drive to the Fairgrounds. He’d been going back and forth all morning on whether to even bother showing up. He had never been one to enjoy celebrating holidays, let alone crowds—his job had sufficiently snuffed that out of him back in his twenties—but it was better than spending the entire day at Huskers. He’d made it out of the bar before he’d gotten truly drunk, at any rate, which should count for something. He was tipsy, at best. Almost drunk, at worst—but still a far cry from the black-out state that Dallas would be devastated to see.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

_{Location: Pines Holler Police Station → Huskers Bar & Grill Interacting with: Aiden [@altered-tundra] Mentions: Dallas}

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Valen made a dismissive noise of acknowledgement, clicking his seatbelt into place as the rookie—Aiden—came around to the passenger side. If he’d slammed the door intentionally to annoy Valen, it worked. He gave the other officer a glance of irritation, twisting the key in the ignition to bring the car sputtering to life. Valen cranked on the AC, angling the vents to blast the humid air over his damp skin.

The unit had enough mileage to shame most precincts, but Pines Hollar didn’t seem to hold their fleet to the same high standard. 172,479 miles and counting. All things considered, it ran well enough—so long as poor air conditioning and a shot suspension weren’t deal breakers. Valen’s previous partner had run the car into the ground, but Jennings Automotive was good about keeping the station’s vehicles in service—a blessing and a curse, depending on who you asked.

He left the engine in park as Aiden commandeered the mounted MDT, watching with passive indifference. At least the kid’s youth afforded him some competency with technology; Valen was sure his waning patience would have gotten them off to a worse start if Aiden hadn’t been able to figure it out on his own. Once the terminal confirmed there weren’t any active emergencies, Valen shifted the car into gear. His temple twitched at Aiden’s tone, and the words earned a grunt from the driver’s seat. Not that it mattered to Valen if the kid was ready—he was along for the ride, like it or not.

As the tires rolled over the uneven asphalt, Valen already had his mind set on where they’d be stopping first. He probably should have communicated as much to the rookie, what with his newfound role of ‘mentor’, but keeping Aiden in the dark felt somehow therapeutic. It had absolutely nothing to do with Dallas; if Aiden wanted to push his buttons, he would push them right back. At any rate, the stop was warranted—with the power down, Huskers would be the epicenter thanks to their back-up generator, making the establishment one of very few places to maintain electricity. It made sense to make an appearance there, regardless of whether a certain green-eyed blonde would be present.

The outage would either give the kid a chance to learn on the run or it would be an absolute shitshow—and yes, if he had to listen to Aiden ramble for an entire day with no calls for a distraction, that qualified. The drive over to Huskers was short—and blessedly quiet—before he pulled into a faded parking spot and cut the engine. His door was already propped open before he spared Aiden a fleeting glance.

“All right, Caden. Let’s do a routine check. We’ll be dropping in here regularly until the power is back up,” he said gruffly, unable to stop himself from adding, “Unless you’d rather volunteer for traffic control—I’m sure your expertise would be invaluable.” As if to highlight the jab, his gaze flickered to the intersection nearby, where the unlucky soul on traffic duty was leaning against the downed signal post, his expression bored even at this distance. There was no traffic in sight.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

_{Location: #226 Miners Street → Pines Holler Police Station Interacting with: Aiden [@altered-tundra]}

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Losing power in the Pines wasn't exactly uncommon. Valen had lived there for over four years now and had endured the anomaly more times than he could count on both hands, which, for most people, meant too often. Considering that, one might have expected the man to be prepared for a recurrence, but Valen hadn't exactly been in the best mindset since his break-up with Dallas—or during their relationship, for that matter.

He was in the middle of showering, his body already lathered with soap, when the room went dark. Despite the steady sound of falling water, Valen still heard the change in ambiance as the white noise inside the house fell into a hush. “Are you serious right now?" He asked flatly, squinting uselessly through the wet stream. Of course he would be in the one room without a natural light source, his bathroom window having been broken for the better part of a year. He hadn't even known how he'd smashed the damn thing, but he suspected it was yet another instance of him doing fucked up shit while intoxicated. He was sure Dallas knew—not that he ever asked her.

The frame had been boarded up, the plan to fix it falling through the cracks month after month. Only now did he regret his negligence. "Fucking perfect," he breathed in irritation, doing his best to rinse off before cutting the water. He didn't bother trying to dress in the dark, not caring if his neighbors saw him buck-ass naked. At any rate, he doubted the sight would be anything new, and it wasn't like he lived next to any minors. He made a hasty grab at the pile of clothing on the dingy counter and trusted he knew the layout well enough to navigate to the kitchen; compared to the rest of the house, that space held the most sunlight.

He almost made it unscathed, nearly reaching the end of the hall before kicking the corner of a table he still hadn't gotten used to—he wasn't the one who bought it, after all. He let out a strangled curse, hobbling over to the kitchen island where the morning sun was filtering in. He tossed his uniform onto the surface, indifferent to the fact that it sailed clear off the other side from the force. Disregarding the early hour and the escape of cold air, Valen crossed over to the fridge and yanked open the door to pull out a beer. He drained half the bottle in one go, leaning back against the counter to stare testily at the blank face of the kitchen clock. Sweat was already starting to form on his freshly bathed skin—a beautiful addition to the start of his morning.

It didn’t matter that he would be on shift in half an hour or that he was meeting his new partner—some rookie, according to the chatter at the station. He needed the morale boost; he could already tell it was going to be a long day.

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Somehow, Valen managed to still make it into work with five minutes to spare. His shirt was only slightly creased from its stint on the linoleum, and a quick swig of Listerine had eliminated the evidence of alcohol on his breath. He’d already finished the pre-shift inspection on the patrol vehicle when a vaguely familiar voice clipped through the humid air:

“Officer Lockwood.”

Valen turned his torso to catch sight of Dallas’s friend… What was his name again? Gavin? Austin? They'd met a few times through Dal, though their interactions had always been limited. The kid had an obnoxious energy that never failed to get on Valen’s nerves—he only tolerated being around the pair in small doses at any given time. It hadn’t helped that Dallas’s personality seemed to flourish in her friend’s company in a way that it no longer did around Valen. The truth had been a bitter pill to swallow, and he had refused to acknowledge it at the time. Then it was too late.

Valen’s jaw flexed as he inclined his head in return, stalling for a beat as the kid—who apparently was the rookie he got saddled with—carried on blathering. “So, how does this work? Are you, the veteran, going to force me to drive and hope I learn while doing it?” Valen let out a humorless laugh, crossing his arms while he scrutinized his new partner; he really shouldn't have talked himself out of that second beer.

“Caden, right? Yeah, no—I don't think so. You barely look like you passed your Drivers Ed class yesterday,” he replied dryly, gesturing towards the passenger side. “Get in. You can take notes.” There was no way in hell he was letting some baby-faced rookie drive his unit, regardless of who he was friends with. A mechanical click sounded as the doors unlocked. Valen walked stiffly past Caden and pulled open the driver's door with more force than was necessary before sinking into the worn seat. He worked his expression as he watched the kid come around in the rearview mirror, trying to convince himself he could tolerate him for an entire shift.

...Fuck.

He should have called off when the power went out.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

Valen Lockwood || TW: Alcoholism/DV/Mentions of death

_{Faceclaim: Bob Morley // Color Code: #75779c
Learn to Love by Zoe Wees W/ Dean Lewis}

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_{Full Name:}

Valentino Lockwood

_Nickname(s):

Valen, Val (will only respond to a few who call him this), V

_Age:

34 (Sept-10)

_Gender:

Male

_Sexuality:

Heterosexual (he’s never considered it deeper)

_Occupation:

Law Enforcement

_{Place of Residence:}

#226 Miners Street

_{Family and Close Connections:}

• Parents: Giovanni (57) & Aleda (deceased)
• Late Wife: Emily (deceased)
• Ex-Girlfriend: Dallas King

_Appearance:

• Height: 5’11”
• Hair: Naturally wavy, black hair that reaches his neck, usually rather unkempt even when styled. He also has a beard—which refuses to grow fully on the sides, not for a lack of trying—and a moustache.
• Eyes: Hazel
• Body Type: Lean, muscular frame with broad shoulders
• Clothing Style: Casual shirts and jeans are his go-to, often paired with some variety of jacket. While he does own a pair of sneakers from when he used to jog in the mornings, he’s more likely to be seen wearing his tactical boots. Valen does have some dress attire as well that has a reserved spot deep in his closet, squashed in the corner next to his work uniforms.
• Body Markings: Valen has a scar on his left shoulder from a vehicle collision. He doesn’t have any tattoos or piercings, viewing body modifications negatively from his job experience and considers them to be unprofessional in most cases; there are a few people, however, he appreciates the artistry on despite his views.

_Personality:

Not unlike most people, Valen can be complicated—more so when he’s under the influence of alcohol. Typically, he presents a pretty standard front: charming, easygoing, and sociable in most situations. However, the opposite can be true as well—he can be sullen and broody, although he usually restricts where he goes when he’s in a foul mood. In the latter case, he’ll usually pull up a barstool at Huskers or make a detour to Smokers Paradise before a long night in.

With his occupation, Valen is prone to judging books by their covers—which means there are a lot of folks in town he’s wary of. He’s definitely more of a hard ass towards other men, not at all opposed to intimidation tactics whether he’s in uniform or not. That being said, he has started to loosen-up a bit around some of the locals… others, not so much.

_History:

Valen was raised in New York City, having moved to the rural town of Pines Holler only four years ago to get away from the reminders that covered the city like weeds.

Back in New York, Valen grew up an only child with the burden his father’s expectations heavy on his shoulders. They had a fairly traditional family dynamic—stay-at-home mother with a breadwinner father. The blemish on their homelife, had anyone found out, was his father’s abusive disposition behind closed doors.

As soon as Valen graduated, he set his sights on pursuing a career in Law Enforcement. He moved out of his family’s house to start a life with his high school sweetheart, the two marrying early in their twenties. After joining the force, Valen started down a slippery slope with drinking, which only got worse as time went on. When they finally decided to try for a child, Valen was spending the majority of his nights getting wasted with his work buddies, causing a lot of friction between them.

On the night she went into labor, Valen had been chasing the bottom of the bottle, leaving the responsibility on his wife to drive to the hospital. That ill-fated night cost him his wife and unborn child, Valen being the sole survivor in the collision that took their lives.

He quickly spiraled after that—losing his job, his home, and even his mother suddenly from an undiagnosed health issue. He ended up staying with his father for a while, both of them consumed in their grief until Valen was able to find a low-end job and get an apartment on the shady side of town. Eventually, however, the city began to feel suffocating after all he’d lost, and even seeing familiar faces became an almost unbearable reminder of the life he used to have.

Before his 30th birthday, Valen made the impulsive decision to pack-up and leave. He’d simply driven until he found himself in the small town, the taped hiring sign on the run-down building too serendipitous to pass up.

Dallas King History (TW: Domestic Violence)

Valen dated Dallas King for a little over a year, their time together tumultuous with a messy ending that came about approximately eight months ago – not that he was keeping track.

Valen never planned to date someone so much younger than him, but Dallas’ radiant energy and positive outlook had been a breath of fresh air that drew him in immediately. It hadn’t taken long for them to officially begin dating, Valen even jumping at the chance to invite her to move in with him—which she’d happily accepted.

At the beginning, it had almost seemed too good to be true—in hindsight, because it was. It had been easy to pretend their relationship wasn’t doomed from the start when it was still new and the overwhelming desire for her company left little space for anything else.

Once they started living together, however, the weight of it all began to set in and his demons came crawling out of the woodwork. Guilt pounded at his door, old memories resurfacing like wallpaper beneath peeling paint. His grasp on drinking began to deteriorate, desperate to drown out the torment that now accompanied his life with Dallas.

Looking back on it, Valen was ashamed of the trajectory their relationship took. His anger had gotten the better of him often—he’d woken up too many times to find broken glass or a new hole in the drywall that hadn’t been there before. That wasn’t even including the incidents that had nothing to do with alcohol at all—their short-lived time together filled with shouting matches, often one-sided, and slamming doors that never stayed closed.

What eventually drove Dallas off was a poorly timed intervention attempt on her part. Perhaps if it had happened before he’d started drinking—not that she knew he usually got started long before he’d arrive home—or better yet, not at all, he might never have laid hands on her. He wanted to believe that—was desperate to, in fact—even if everything laid out had shown it was nothing short of an inevitability. The bruises that remained for weeks after were enough for him to let her go, at least until he finally started to tamp down on his alcohol consumption again.

Unfortunately, the damage was done and there was no erasing that fact. Valen knew better than to think re-starting something with Dallas wouldn’t have history repeating itself—he had two too-many skeletons in his closet to be so delusional again, but he couldn’t quite get himself to give her up entirely. He still tried to talk her into coming over, still overstayed his welcome at her place of employment, and still came knocking even under Mollie’s pressure on him to stop.

He couldn’t help it; he really missed Dallas, even if he came with more damage than she should have to carry.

_{Extra Facts // Headcannons:}

• Valen doesn’t have a personal attachment to Pines Holler that affects his view on the town’s potential expansion. He’s used to bigger city living and wouldn’t be entirely opposed, however he’s grown fonder than he thinks of the quieter lifestyle and would undoubtedly miss aspects of it were the town to change.
• Drives a silver Ford Explorer he's had since his late wife was expecting; doesn't have the heart to trade it in.
• He has tried multiple times to quit drinking but can’t seem to steer clear of it for longer than a couple of months. He can, and often does, handle his liquor well enough if he doesn’t get carried away.
• While he doesn’t consider himself a smoker, Valen is known to buy a pack here or there when he does plan to drink a lot.
• Despite Valen’s history with Dallas, he’s normally not aggressive, most of the hostility stemming from his unresolved trauma.
• He's still holding onto hope that he can have a future with Dallas, even as she moves on.
• Valen still wears his wedding ring, regardless of anyone he may be actively dating.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

Wow wow wow wow wow

Keep 'em coming guys!

Important Announcement: We are no longer accepting interest for this RP. If you are not one of the people who commented on the interest check, or have messaged me before now (3:33 EST), please do not apply!

@Sugar and Spite

I initially posted that I thought it was interesting, so hopefully that scraped me into the bucket. XD

Valentino "Valen" Lockwood | 34 | FC: Bob Morley | #75779c

I would have volunteered him as an abusive ex for Dallas except I think she's too young, haha.

He's going to be in Law Enforcement and he'll probably have a vice, like alcoholism, which is why he's physical at times. He's constantly trying to stop drinking and always goes back to it.

Pines Holler - A Small Town SoL Sandbox RP [NOT Accepting]

Ahhh this sounds fun!

In Secret We Lie: False Gods & Human Servants

When at last the day of the grand feast arrived, Isander found himself assisting in the kitchens. Morning quickly turned into late afternoon, all hands busy preparing for the banquet. He lent his aid by bringing bottles up from the cellar, polishing cutlery, and setting up plates - the cooks seemed to know better than to ask him to do anything involving heat; after his earlier incident trying to chop carrots, they also began to steer him away from anything sharp.

By the time evening had set, everything was ready to satisfy the Gods - or so he hoped. Isander had heard rumors circulating about who would be in attendance, and he couldn’t help shifting from foot to foot in anticipation. This was it - he was finally going to witness the Gods in person. He wasn’t sure which feeling was more prominent - his excitement or his nerves. Not that it mattered; both emotions were coiled so tightly in his chest that there was no way to tell them apart even if he tried.

He had a freshly bandaged finger beneath his glove as the party began. Isander stood vigilant by the kitchen doors, a tray held aloft in one hand while the other was tucked respectfully behind his back. He tried to follow the instructions he had been given - be attentive but do not stare - yet he was finding it harder to do the longer the night wore on. Particularly once he’d realized that there must have been some sort of mix-up with the costumes. His eyes kept flickering towards the divine ones, his attention drawn to the untraditional attire worn by the imposing figures.

He even spotted a party hat attached to none other than the Great Chronicler themself and felt the corner of his mouth twitch in pleasant surprise. Somehow, seeing them all wearing swapped ensembles or silly hats made Isander feel more at ease. The Gods almost seemed more approachable this way - not that Zan had any intention of doing such a thing. Well... except perhaps the God of Bounty. He’d been told to pray to Melion since he learned to talk, not to mention the festivals they held in his honor every year. He had a million questions but was sure if he ever had the chance, he wouldn’t have the courage to ask a single one. Still, the idea of being in his vicinity was a welcome one.

As long as he ignored the passing whispers that the God of Decay was around, he was sure he could get through the night without incident. Zan brought himself to make another round about the ballroom, collecting empty champagne glasses and used plates, smiling politely despite giving all the deities a wide berth. Stay busy but don't interfere... He could do that. Be a bee on the wall, he thought distractedly, noticing said creature garnering quite a bit of attention in the corner. Well, perhaps not that bee. At least he could use the distraction to clear away the platters nearby. As he did so, he tried not to shiver at the state of the turkey bones that remained.