[slint x TheYellowKing]
"Should we leave?" Callie said from Ash's bed, no longer nestled under the sheet and blanket (undoubtedly, she had taken note at Ashling wardrobe change: the hockey sweater, black leggings, and ballet flats). She looked ready to brave a lengthy hangover.
"Yeah..." Callie's bright face dropped and Ashling quickly laughed in defense, "...no, no, no. I have work later. Y'all are good for now. You can chill here, smoke, I don't care I'm just going out... but... you should TOTALLY see if they want to do shrooms." Callie cocked a meticulously plucked eyebrow. "Listen." Ashling closed the door and led her friend to the bed, they sat in an attempted huddle that she quickly abandoned all notion of. "He wants me to pick up more when I ain't even sold current stock..." She trailed and when she opened her mouth again, spoke softer, "...I mean, not that he knows that or anything."
"I didn't like the way he was looking at you yesterday."
"Yeah, neither did I. Dude is a creep but he's a good contact."
Callie sighed slowly and deeply. "So you want us to do shrooms for you?"
Hearing the words thrown back at her without the drug dealer rhetoric (which had clearly crashed to the ground in a splintered and flaming heap) didn't make her feel a hundred percent about the attempt, but at the same time pushing drugs was what paid Mama's bills. Barnes & Noble was just self-issued allowance. She pursed pale red lips, "It's like this. I want you to eat an eighth on my behalf because I have to go run some errands and can't hang out with you and you're my shit, dude; my bitch, my partner in crime and badassary. And of course I got YOU on the goods, but I wouldn't want to leave out..." She stood up and thumbed to the dull white wall and further beyond it, to their friends in the 'livi-dini-kitchen'.
Callie smirked, staring straight through her. She wasn't stupid, she just didn't care. Callie would come out of Ashling's room with her baggie, wake up the sleeping bunch, and they'd all have a good time. She knew it would work out for everyone. They didn't necessarily need to know she didn't pay for the trip.
"Just make it so they think you already bought the bag or whatever," she cracked a sideways grin and threw up her hands as to say 'I dunno,' "you're good at manipulating with that, uhh ye'know, subtly nuanced shit."
"Bye biiiiiitch."
She slipped out the door and walked down the hall, crossing back over the still sleeping party patrons. Not much had changed in the main room. Simple movements were made, sure (for instance Jenna was no longer sleeping half on the couch/half on her boyfriend's chest, and alternatively appeared to have had found solace on the carpet), but everyone's general locale remained the same.
Ashling opted for the stairs and bailed out the bottom door, hitting all thirteen flights. It was certainly not the lazy-man's exit but - compared to where the elevators spat the residents out - it would place her a lot closer to the parking lot.
The Camry rumbled lightly down the road, its purring fell completely under the noise from its speakers.
Conor's shop sat across the street from Ana's Taquíera, a grub-hut (and personal favorite of Ashling's) in the heart of KC, it made her dart out like a bat out of hell for Jeff's errands. The door chimed open and immediately she was hit with a mix of varying animal food odors and a symphony of chirps and squawks. Ashling saw Conor sitting by his desk, staring glumly at the floor; it wasn't like him. The sound of the shop door slamming shut caught his attention.
"Hey shining-face, how's the hand?" Conor lifted his head, his bright green eyes looking hollow.
"Oh it's nothin', the doctor said it's an inflammation, but it's been a week since then an-."
"- fine... didn't ask for yar life story, sheesh..."
"What a charming ass you are."
"Oh don't be so sensitive, the mice are over there." Conor gestured with his head towards a cage on Ashling's left.
"So," Ashling turned from the cage and sat on a stool on the opposite side of his counter, she placed a box of tea, "I brought the tea. What was it you wanted to talk about?"
Conor stood from his chair and disappeared through the flowing drapery of the door behind the counter, tea in tow. He shuffled around in the back, clanging and scraping about. He set a teapot on the burner before returning to see Ashling rolling her eyes, keeping herself propped up with an open palm.
"So business?"
"Yeh, business." He spoke gruffly, clearing his throat. "Now it's no surprise to me that ya' either found yaself mixed in with crime at a young age or were born into it. Now I won't dive into the specifics on ya history or anything but what I DO need from ya is yar advice on some... uh... storefront defense."
She looked disappointed but an ardent observer could see the smirk hiding, just thinking of etching itself across her face. "Conor, Conor, Conor," she puffed, "what do you think it is I'm doing here? I'm small time. I came here for school and stayed for the city. You're just looking at a Brooklyn girl that fell in love with the Missouri sunrise."
The teapot whistled lightly under their words.
"No way in hell ya opened up shop as quick as'ya did without any experience, lass. Don't buy it."
"I'm ambitious."
"Wouldn't ya still be enrolled in college if that were the case?"
"Fuck you, I'm still ambitious." She groaned, defeated at his very question. There was no reason to keep the pathetic diversion going any longer. "MAYBE I can help. Whattaya got?"
"Name's Cipriano, wants m-
She laughed as soon as she heard the name, "I know what he wants. You're fucked!"
Conor didn't look too amused.
"Listen man," she shifted on her stool, pointing on the counter for emphasis, "that guy was just the messenger, and you see how big that fuck was? Just wait. You can't make the first move, you're just one dude, and plus you don't have the team to hit 'em before they shake you up."
The teapot's whining had been slowly rising while Ash was advising Conor, it pierced entirely through the shop and stirred the animals even more.
"Ashling."
"Yeah?"
"I think there's someone you need to meet."
She gulped, oh boy. What the blazes had she stumbled into?
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"Likes meth..?" *snickers* "try 'made meth'."
I'm cool with whatever you guys decide. If we can't conceive of a way to place Conor into what Sturm already has, no stress, he probably doesn't belong in that scene. Post what you got, we'll have many opportunities to draw people together.
had an idea to make Ashling not a regular at Fiddler's Green, think she would know Conor from her snake Jeff (lol) but not really anyone else.
Yesterday – 5:45pm
They sat idled on Kirk Drive, about a block down from Ashling’s apartment. From the blown-out speakers of her ‘94 Camry came a deep pulse of analog synth (a refugee from the mid-80s) before paper-thin guitar chords rang in between a steady machine drumbeat. The car was obviously fish-bowled. Smoke seeped comically from the mere ventilation of the car’s cracked windows and drifted into the tree line that blocked a view of I-35.
“…which would be totally fine, do what you want dude… seriously there’s nothing I hate more than guys that don’t have their own friends… like, I’m not crazy right? There’s a certain brand of person out their that –.” The rest of her stirring rant would need to be put on hold to nurse the expertly crafted joint resting in her hand, “… out there that, male or female, you know,” her hands cut about the smoke in a mad flurry, “once they get into a relationship, they either dump their friends… OR, the small amount of friends they DID have are driven away once things start heating up.” She continued uncontested over the silence in the car, until she realized she was doing most of the talking. “Am I making sense?”
Ashling laughed. “You’re fine, Callie. Just stop being a hog and pass me your lighter too, you always need to tell a goddamn story.”
“Just want to make sure my audience is paying attention.”
“You fail to realize my attention has been on the joint in your hand.” She pointed.
Callie laughed, swiping her phone off. “I’m the worst, I know.” She passed both over to Ash, before switching gears without a beat. “I just fucking can’t believe Ellen.”
“OHHH MY GOOOOOD.” Ash looked tortured, like she was in mental anguish. “If I have to hear about her one more time…” She could hear Callie laughing, “Shut up, that was one of the best things about leaving UMK.”
“You have work at…?”
“Eight. Not too bad.”
“I could really go for some tortas, then we can see your dealer?”
“Yes to food…" She sighed. "...and yeah, I can hit him up." She was quiet for a moment. Her eyes focused on the smoldering point of tight white, "He’s been weird recently, I dunno, you’ll see I guess.” Ash took a hit.
Present Day – Morning
She stretched in bed, attempting to raise her arms out from the sheets pinned under Callie's body. With enough effort she broke free and stumbled across her bedroom floor to the dresser, slipping into a flowing Brooklyn Americans knit jersey. She crossed over collapsed party-goers, journeyed in between littered solo-cups and empty liquor handles, and eventually spilled into the main room of the apartment. A few people stirred in small pockets among the room, quietly adjusting in their half-sleep.
She sat on the balcony and lit a serviceable roach, fumbling with her iPhone and looking out at the city around her. The day was just beginning and in her living room lay scattered a bunch of undergrads that would be - with much regret - missing their classes. After some aimless thought (or 'dose' of morning meditation) she was reminded of something she had to do, she dialed Conor.
He answered, but made certain he was busy. "Conor, how are ya, you old fool? Think I could pick up some mice for Jeff later?"
They sat idled on Kirk Drive, about a block down from Ashling’s apartment. From the blown-out speakers of her ‘94 Camry came a deep pulse of analog synth (a refugee from the mid-80s) before paper-thin guitar chords rang in between a steady machine drumbeat. The car was obviously fish-bowled. Smoke seeped comically from the mere ventilation of the car’s cracked windows and drifted into the tree line that blocked a view of I-35.
“…which would be totally fine, do what you want dude… seriously there’s nothing I hate more than guys that don’t have their own friends… like, I’m not crazy right? There’s a certain brand of person out their that –.” The rest of her stirring rant would need to be put on hold to nurse the expertly crafted joint resting in her hand, “… out there that, male or female, you know,” her hands cut about the smoke in a mad flurry, “once they get into a relationship, they either dump their friends… OR, the small amount of friends they DID have are driven away once things start heating up.” She continued uncontested over the silence in the car, until she realized she was doing most of the talking. “Am I making sense?”
Ashling laughed. “You’re fine, Callie. Just stop being a hog and pass me your lighter too, you always need to tell a goddamn story.”
“Just want to make sure my audience is paying attention.”
“You fail to realize my attention has been on the joint in your hand.” She pointed.
Callie laughed, swiping her phone off. “I’m the worst, I know.” She passed both over to Ash, before switching gears without a beat. “I just fucking can’t believe Ellen.”
“OHHH MY GOOOOOD.” Ash looked tortured, like she was in mental anguish. “If I have to hear about her one more time…” She could hear Callie laughing, “Shut up, that was one of the best things about leaving UMK.”
“You have work at…?”
“Eight. Not too bad.”
“I could really go for some tortas, then we can see your dealer?”
“Yes to food…" She sighed. "...and yeah, I can hit him up." She was quiet for a moment. Her eyes focused on the smoldering point of tight white, "He’s been weird recently, I dunno, you’ll see I guess.” Ash took a hit.
Present Day – Morning
She stretched in bed, attempting to raise her arms out from the sheets pinned under Callie's body. With enough effort she broke free and stumbled across her bedroom floor to the dresser, slipping into a flowing Brooklyn Americans knit jersey. She crossed over collapsed party-goers, journeyed in between littered solo-cups and empty liquor handles, and eventually spilled into the main room of the apartment. A few people stirred in small pockets among the room, quietly adjusting in their half-sleep.
She sat on the balcony and lit a serviceable roach, fumbling with her iPhone and looking out at the city around her. The day was just beginning and in her living room lay scattered a bunch of undergrads that would be - with much regret - missing their classes. After some aimless thought (or 'dose' of morning meditation) she was reminded of something she had to do, she dialed Conor.
He answered, but made certain he was busy. "Conor, how are ya, you old fool? Think I could pick up some mice for Jeff later?"
I'll have a post up today folks
True Detective, I'm assuming that's where King got the name from.
I concur. love the name by the way, I have no idea what to do with myself now that TD is over :3
Ashling Byrne
Female
25
Day Job: Barnes & Noble at Country Club Plaza
Bio: Aishling found herself - at a terribly young age - treating the sprawling grid of streets in Brooklyn as her own backyard. Her family had owned the building for generations, an anonymous 'row-house' in Sunset Park that fell back into the blur of equally similar apartments. She attempted to avoid the adult world that so many Byrne children too quickly found themselves thrust into, but was destined for it. It was the family business and they were expected to keep it going strong well after Mom and Pop were laid to rest. Ash would tell you she had a fairly sufficient childhood. She still daydreams to memories of feasting royally at Rico's taquería with the girls after school, when the days were longer; that was before she turned sixteen, and before it was realized Ash was already prepared to learn from the best.
The Byrne's were known notoriously within their circles as the impassioned, volatile, and 'ride-or-die' mantra toting family. Short fused, ready to fight, and quick to protect the ones they love. Ashling inherited degrees of her family's weaknesses in emotion but for the most part found better control of it than her siblings did.
They followed a loose set of moral codes devised by the boozing patriarch John, but if you talked to anyone who knew the family they'd tell you Deirdre was the brains. Now from their perspective they weren't necessarily wrong, but she didn't hear about everything they did. He kept the darker bits of his work out from under her nose and let her share in that illusion before the bladder cancer took her away. They were excellent at what they did, hell, they had to be. There were just some details they had to keep from her, things that would have destroyed her.
When Ash graduated from Sunset Park High she was enrolled in NYU by her father, and in turn peddled designer drugs to the rich and unsupervised. It turned out to be a very fruitful business for the both of them, and the more Ashling impressed her father, the more power she found herself surrounded by. At 21 she was a "college-gal" no more.
After a botched job the family closed down shop, stripped the row-house clean and attempted for a clean break. Some made it out of New York successfully and others were snatched up by the boys in blue, sure to let them know they'd refuse to help in the investigation even if they had known where "those bastards" fled to. The incarcerated Byrne children were damn full of piss and vinegar, and even marginally resentful to the ones lucky enough to get away, but in NO universe would they ever rat out family.
Ashling fled to Kansas City and moved into Quality Hill Towers on Jefferson. She locked down a job at Barnes & Noble, and quickly pushed herself into the social circles of the surrounding universities by posing as a student on campus long enough to make some connections. Once she had a solid friend base she "dropped out," picking up a few more hours at the book store and dedicating her remaining hours to becoming a player in Kansas City's drug scene, gravitating to the varying things college kids are looking for: ganja, E, and blow. Ash linked up with a dealer in her building and together with his supply and her networking they hope to run a size-able portion of the campus drug scene.
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