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Lloyd R Darrow

Lloyd was informed of a double date. Not just any double date, either. Caitlyn was expecting Camille Rameau, and her new husband. He was incredibly skeptical of this man and the apparent whirlwind romance, and so the Angel would continue to be ‘Rameau’ until he decided Atticus Hammond was worthy. After all, Camille was Caitlyn’s best friend, and Lloyd could only handle so much eccentricity. He was prepared to make Camille’s new beau sweat under the collar.

It was decided that the quad would spend their time on the Darrow Estate, a dreary baronet in Brighton. It provided Lloyd with a peace of mind London could not, while simultaneously opening up ample opportunities to test Atticus. And if that failed, he would simply hunt him in the surrounding woods, and serve him for dinner.

Lloyd was not picky.

He, as well as Caitlyn and the boys had arrived early on in the day. However, Lloyd had made arrangements for a car to deliver the ‘Hammonds’ to Brighton Keep after collecting their luggage. He was, after all, a gentleman. And he had plenty of gentlemanly activities for a day spent in the country. The women would have their time to gossip and relax, and he would make Atticus Hammond cry and beg for his mother.

Lloyd didn’t do ‘friends’. Therefore he had no qualms with crushing the soul of that one.

Tea and assorted finger-foods were arranged in the dayroom, finger-foods putting it quite generously. Lloyd was well tempered in the tastes of both his wife and her companion. While his mother had objected quite violently about the use of good china for Doritos, Lloyd allowed their deployment. If for nothing else, he knew he was on thin ice with Caitlyn, and serving food on paper plates (which would befit such snacks) would not have left her pleased, he was certain.

The boys, Margaret, and their grandparents all took a day trip to the beach, not that they couldn’t have made themselves scarce in a house of such magnitude. But, should anyone not be to role-model standards, Lloyd didn’t want the children privy to such visuals. Camille and her gummies weren’t exactly the best sort of ‘Auntie’ memories he wanted for the children.

“Lloyd, why the f-ck have you got little croissant-wrapped sausages on the good service plates? You know Queen Victoria allegedly ate from that set.” Freddie wandered into dayroom, said snack hanging from between his lips.

They’re called ‘pigs in a blanket’, and they’re what Caitlyn asked for. Aren’t you supposed to be at the beach?” His brow furrowed as he stared back at his brother, quickly stepping over to smack at his hand and prevent any more thefted foods.

“Couldn’t be assed, honestly.” He replied, verdant and gold eyes flecked with mischief. “Where’s Cait? Haven’t seen her in months.” The youngest Darrow sibling began to wander about, neck craning to check for the sister-in-law he knew wasn’t in present company.

You’ll behave yourself, Freddie. Our guests don’t need to be subjected to your lack of propriety.” Despite the earlier chastising, Freddie stole another hor d'oeuvre and plucked into his mouth with a cat-got-mouse smirk.

“I’ll be on my best behavior, honest! You hid all of the good liquor, anyway. Such a drag, big brother. And Jane told me you called me a fairy. Assh-le.” He gave Lloyd a well-placed slap upside the head, which would only earn a full on sissy-slapping contest.

Actually, Freddie, I could use your help…”

And so, the brothers hatched a plot. And it would be beautiful, potentially lethal, and absolutely hilarious. Mostly, because the Darrow’s idea of a practical joke simply wasn’t appropriate for mortal lives to endure. 

September 25, 2017 11:26 pm

Atticus Hammond

Atticus hates social interaction. In fact, the man is so socially awkward, the very thought of forced small-talk with strangers makes him clam up. He used to think that it was one of those bizarre, but endearing qualities to him, but Atticus has come to learn that profuse sweating while socializing isn’t cute. He is willing, however, to endure his greatest fears for the benefit of his bride, who desperately needs some time with her ‘best friend’. The expression causes him to mumble under his breath every now and then, but Atticus lets it go. The late-night phone calls and FaceTime(s) that often interrupt their evenings or his sleep schedule, or the very uncharacteristic screech Camille emits every time Caitlyn is on the other end of the time. He allows the gossip about his body, and their life and their hobbies, because Atticus, like The Dude, abides. To say he is as happy as a clam is an understatement.

Atticus is unequivocally peachy, and Camille is entirely to blame. He mentally kicks himself for recommending a trip to London, but he was excited to tour museums, monuments, anything and everything slightly nerdy. But, plans change. Rather than a romantic vacation in a foreign city with a [hopefully brief] pit-stop with Caitlyn Darrow, Atticus finds himself roped into a full-on stay at Chez Darrow, nowhere close to civilization. It leaves Atticus dragging his feet all throughout the airport departing and arriving. His complaints fall upon deaf ears, as Camille has complete tunnel vision. Or, Caitlyn-vision.

He doesn’t fault her excitement. After a month spent with himself, Atticus is also desperate for ANYONE to intercede. Because when Atticus has a comfort level, he never stops talking. And usually, it’s something geeky. Something supernatural, and Camille, at present, is his only audience. She claims to adore it, but delving into more than his fair share of self-doubt, Atticus, well… Doubts himself. All he is told is that Caitlyn has a husband, and said husband is as dull as a bag of rocks. Atticus hopes beyond hope that means he doesn’t like to chit-chat.

Silences aren’t awkward for Atticus. He isn’t perceptive enough to understand that sentiment. In fact, being able to sit in total silence is a comfort for the man. It’s when his brain and mouth have to function in unison that the trainwreck starts to take form. He cannot help that he is exceptionally awkward. His father was a man’s man, hard-working, gruff. Atticus, however, couldn’t adapt to such a masculine exterior. He and his father shared little craft or hobby in common, so he chose to channel his focus into overeating and having an unreasonably close relationship with his mother. A real over-compensator, he is. Camille warned him that Lloyd is, like his father, a real ‘man’s man’. And Atticus wants to convince himself he’s prepared. However, he knows he isn’t.

He’s lived 32 years without sharing more than a few grunts and nods over a beer with Big Forrest. The most affection he received was the firm, business-like handsome his father offered when he graduated from high school. Not only does Atticus fail to see the use in such a dynamic, he has failed miserably at it since then.

But for Camille, he’ll endure anything. Especially because he’s responsible for so much of her current situation, he feels as though he has zero right to deny her any whim or comfort. Even if it puts him outside of his own realm of comfort. He’ll endure. He’ll cry about it in the car on the ride home, but in the moment, he’ll pretend to enjoy himself. He’ll offer a few smiles, and find something bizarrely specific to compliment Lloyd Darrow on. He’ll pretend Caitlyn’s red hair doesn’t remind him of the sexual predator that approached him a few days before, and he’ll smile awkward and wide, and be pleasant, if not slightly disarming.

So, Atticus climbs out of the car once it finishes its descent from airport to unnecessarily long driveway, already beginning to hustle around to catch Camille’s door. From somewhere above, he hears a gunfire. And then a few more. He’s suddenly quite aware that hot bullets are being peppered around his feet. He’s screeching, doing a little dance as bullets skid off of the rocks and fly about.

Camille!” He cries out, watching hot bullet shells fall from a third story window above. He spies a face in the window, rifle in hand. Gunshots might have been funny, if they were BLANKS. Full-on guns ablazin’ at guests, not so much. There’s laughter, he’s sure of it, but it’s not coming from Atticus. No. The man is full-on man-crying, hopping around to the opposite side of the car to shove his pregnant wife back inside.

Normally, he would have hidden behind the back bumper. But, there’s priceless cargo to protect. And he’s not a total baby. Clamored back into the car, the gunshots cease. Then, applause.

Honey,” He whimpers, all manly and whatnot. “We’re not in Kansas anymore.” He briefly wraps himself around Camille, 100% ill-equipped to handle her and her apparently PSYCHOTIC companions. This is why Atticus hates socializing with people. Guns don’t kill people, forced-socialization kills people.

The man wiggles his toes, mostly to check and see if all nine were still present and accounted for. If he’d packed some ketchup, he could have pretended they had, in fact, blown off one of his toes. But all of the emergency ketchup was in their checked luggage, and Atticus Hammond was unfortunately without. He did, however, have a singed hole where a bullet had come dangerously close to taking a second toe away.

So, Atticus isn’t getting out of the car. Not unless Camille drags him, kicking and screaming.
September 26, 2017 01:01 am

Caitlyn Darrow

The move to London hadn’t been as much in her favor as she originally thought. Between learning her Husband was a killer and there weren’t traces of her family. Her moodiness swayed on a pendulum, though she was always good at the façade that everything was fine. When Camille had told her she would be visiting, she was elated. In fact the coming weeks to her friend’s arrival she jogged four times more on leg day. Which was every day, because the dogs needed exercise.

The drive to the Darrow Estate was uncomfortable. She rambled on about finger foods, and chastised the boys to make sure they didn’t forget one another in a sand grave. But the undertone in her aura told a story, she was still trying to understand her husband. Surely, everyone had a good piece to them. Lloyd was a killer, yet she saw the good in him when she married him.

The estate could be intimidating at first glance, but on her way in she made her appearance sparse. Quietly in the confines of mind mulling over the details of the Darrow kin. She decided to go to their bedroom and unpack some things. She had to greet Cami in the perfect outfit. Cait tossed a few squeaky toys from her luggage, and stared at the amount of khaki in the closet. Yes, they were definitely on Darrow grounds now.  She snickered at the amount of khaki wardrobe, and pondered about jesting with Lloyd about it.

From upstairs she could smell out the pigs in the blanket. Instead of going downstairs to investigate the food, she sat down in front of a lit vanity. She placed the work laptop on the vanity, and lightly batted away the makeup and perfume in her way. Caitlyn tapped at the keyboard with half of an orange hanging out of her mouth. She was almost certain that Atticus would want her to host the bachelorette party he had asked her to. They were all in London, and the children would be gone for quite some time.  Hands start to wildly flail followed by a shrill shrieks as she accidentally ends up on a R-rated webpage. Taking another bite from the orange as if it were an apple, she drains the citrus juices into her mouth. Humming happily to herself she started to get down to discrete business.

Truth be told she lost track of time, and had a few notebook pages scrawled over. Grabbing her phone she dials the number associated with the advertisement. Sunshine sounded like a pleasant name. What could be wrong with Sunshine?

“Yeah?”
“Hi! Who is this?”
“Who in the blimey hell are you?”
“Hi! I’m Caitlyn I saw you ad. Is this Sunshine?” Caitlyn could be wrong, but Sunshine sounded more like a man who smoked 14 boxes of cigars in a sitting. She blinks with concern as the caller on the other end seems to choke on the very air they breathe.
“Aye, Sunshine. What are you looking for Sweetheart? The cougar special?”
“Oh! ..You have a cougar? Aww! I like kitties.”
“Aye, sure you do. 9 PM.”

She agreed to meet the cheerful girl on a sketchy corner later on in the night.   After the phone call is terminated, she sets her phone out of sight. Caitlyn furrowed her brows and chewed on her bottom lip conducting more ‘research’. It ends with her playing peek-a-boo with a popup ad on the computer.  Youthful giggles leave her lips, until the screen goes pitch black.  Pointer finger reaches out to tap at the screen senseless. Little did she know if she just plugged the computer in, the screen would flicker back in place. The rest of the citrus was consumed and she huffed displeased at the machine in front of her.

She must have missed Freddie pass by her, because she leaves the room. Having grown slightly bored with the black screen. Lost in a daydream daze of Rainbows, Unicorns, and time with Camille, she trips down a few set of stairs.  One of her palms reach outwards to grip onto the stair case to lift herself up. Quick back on her feet she pats herself down, and tries to tame the disheveled mess that is connected to her scalp. The fall doesn’t bode well with her and she throws a small conniption fit. The hors d'oeuvres soothe her childish tantrum and cause her to walk in the direction where the scents guide her.

“Lloyd?”  She sniffs the air expectantly using it as husband compass. Caitlyn’s moves cease after she catches a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. Openly whining she starts to fix her appearance, and forgets for the moment she was seeking her husband out.

Her imagination sucks her into its world again. A world of puppies and kitties, no murder there. No killer there, but that world was wrong. Because of the simple fact that Lloyd wasn’t among them in her daydream. She hums and starts to look around for her phone. Her heel stomps on the hard floor once she realizes she left it back upstairs.

Any minute Camille and Atticus should be there. Camille more importantly. She was surprised but also ecstatic that Lloyd agreed to the venture. Caitlyn shimmies up the stairs once more to grab her phone. While up there she closes the computer, and sets it off the vanity. Placing the phone delicately in her dress pocket after she checks it for messages.

There’s gunfire and before she can get ahold of herself. She’s pushing forward vehemently towards the only window in the room facing the front door. Her fingers slide the glass panes open as she started to bark aggressively, growling excessively from the window. Blue-green eyes soften as she quiets down seeing the car. Narrowing her eyes she shouts out from the window. “Cami?!” Then slides down the stair bannister, scurrying in circles. “Lloyd! Lloyd! I think they’re here.” Completely oblivious to her husband and brother-in-law’s plot.

Caitlyn charges for the door throwing it open after taking care of the necessary deadbolts, squealing with glee. Bouncing in her spot happily and waving. Having forgotten just seconds ago that she heard gunfire.

September 26, 2017 11:07 pm

Camille Hammond

There are many different things going through Camille's head on the drive to the Darrow estate. It would be evident to Atticus that her mind was far from cleared as her fingers hadn't left the lacing of his own for the majority of the drive from the airport. The flight took hours, and the change of atmosphere always made Cami kind of cranky. It wasn't something she could help, it just happened. Bless her husband for being able to handle her rollercoaster moodiness. And it wasn't just the early stage pregnancy thing. The Angel was a habitual offender.

An off-handed glance to the man as he drove them along the highway towards the hills offers Camille a quiet moment to consider all that he puts off for her. Atticus had suggested the trip as a vacation for the two of them, and hadn't so much as argued the fact when she suggested they stay with Cait and Lloyd - even though she knows he's less than thrilled. Still, he obliges. Even puts on a good front about being excited to go. Of course, she knows better (and don't think she didn't notice all the complaining about tired, sore feet). But she loves him for it. That, and everything else he did.

Cami gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

"Thank you for doing this. For packing. For arranging the flights. For everything." She breathes, the car now traveling steadily down the long and winding Darrow way. The estate came across her vision as her thumb worked across the skin of his knuckles, and she turned just slightly to face the extensive manor and all of it's property. Caitlyn was somewhere in one of tens of windows, along with Lloyd, Noah and Rigsby. The boys sprouted wildly before her eyes, and even though they'd only been gone a short while, Cami wonders how much they've changed already since the last time she saw them.

While it feels like forever before the entirety of the home comes into view, it's just moments. Soon, Camille is leaning across the center console to give Atticus a chaste kiss before she clamors out of the car. The man would fish for their bags, but she'd at least grab their carry-ons from the back.

But then, as soon as her husband leaves the safety of the drivers seat, Cami hears it.

Gunfire.

The girl can hear the contents of the shell ricochet off of the ground. It sounds dangerously close, but Camille can't just hop around the corner and inspect where the noise was coming from. Instead, she flushes against the side of the car, dipping her head below the window.

"What the ****!? Atticus?!" Cami calls, the words leaving her mouth just before Atticus trying to tackle her back into the passengers seat. She pushes against him, her hands pressed to his shoulders as she fights his might and shakes her head. Mouthing a firm 'no', she eventually succumbs to his scrambling, his arms wrapping around her as he sobs lightly against her shoulder.

"Baby, you're alright. Shh, I'm sure this was just some sort of misunderstanding." She presses a kiss against the side of his temple, her fingers moving to wipe tears from his cheeks. Camille pretends, for his sake, that they're tears of adrenaline, and not because he's been scared out of his bloody wits.

Misunderstanding my ass. The girl thinks to herself.

Brushing herself off, Cami swivels and hops away from the car while Atticus dives back inside. The shots have ceased and she takes the opportunity to stomp around the front of the vehicle, heading straight towards the big, illustrous front door of the mansion.

"Lloyd Rigsby Darrow!" Camille hollars up at the building, evidence in the form of shotgun shells lay scattered across the plush green spread of the front lawn. As if the bright red casing wouldn't stick out like blood on lace. But Cam's harsh words are cut off by the sudden presence of Cait in the doorway to the foyer. Bouncing about with that bright smile on her face like she hadn't a clue in the world.

Camille freaking loved this girl.

"Oh, Cait!" As though the entire situation had evaporated into nothing (rest assured, we'll get back to this later) Camille rushes to the steps, Rocky-ing the f-ck out of them and launching herself into Caitlyns arms. For a while, it sounds like an entire sorority house had exploded onto the Darrow estate. The jumping and screaming of two girls who hadn't seen each other for maybe a month almost too much for passersby to handle. There were slurs of ohmygod, OHMYGOD!'s and incoherant babble. This was their language. But who gave a sh-t what other people thought? Cami and Cait were so excited that nothing was going to ruin this.

Except for that Camille's just remembered her sobbing husband in the car.

"Atticus!" The tiny woman stops jumping, hands still grasping at Caitlyn's arms while she turned to look over her shoulder and back towards the car. "Bullets.. Gunfire.." She mumbles, before she's tugging Cait along with her. "Come on. Come meet Atticus! Officially. And where is Lloyd?"

'Cause Cami's gonna kill him.
October 07, 2017 11:59 pm

Lloyd R Darrow

The plan was a beautiful success. Lloyd watched with glee as Atticus burst into tears, having to tackle and argue his wife back into the car. It’s one of the few moments Lloyd has shown genuine emotion in many years, his laughter a thunderous, out of place sound in the reserves of the house. He planned to hideout inside, his superior view of the grounds granted him a false sense of safety from the likes of Camille Rameau’s unmatched wrath. He knew there would be hell to pay, but he was far too amused. Lloyd pushed back from the windowsill, a few quick paces from that room to the next leading him to Freddie. The duo laugh together like the two ignoramuses they were, back patting and clapping ensued.

Finally, after wiping a single tear from his eye, Lloyd made his descent down the flight of stairs that would bring him to the foyer. He offered no hesitation as he stepped out onto the disarming sight of his wife and her best friend squeezing like children. He’d never felt excitement like that in his life, and couldn’t bother to sympathize the emotion. He rolled his eyes, stepping out just as Camille is dragged Caitlyn towards the car. He heard his name pass Camille’s lips, knowing full well he is going to be murdered. He can’t help but grin, that evil little smile. The only smile he was capable of showcasing.

Need help with the bags?” He inquired, stepping around behind the car to collect them, knowing full well the women were useless from the second they’d come upon each other in a flurry of emotions. He pulled the suitcases out, his bulky frame balanced the bags accordingly. He was a man and his intention would always be to immaculate Atticus Hammond. It helped, of course, that he could hear the sniveling little man-child sniffling from the back seat.

Freddie had done a bang up job. “I must apologize completely for my brother’s actions, Camille. Freddie’s a bit of a loose cannon, you see. Can’t believe he figured out the code to the gun cabinet again. I’ll have to change it.” He lied with that toothy smirk, finding no reason to mask his amusement. Perhaps because it was so overwhelming a sentiment, he wouldn’t pass up the flood of dopamine to his system.

So, where is the man? He didn’t even ask Caitlyn and I’s permission before you were married. I can’t say I approve.” He spoke loud enough that he knew Atticus could hear without the confines of the vehicle, and above the sounds of his broken little baby sobs. “I didn’t just marry Caitlyn on a whim, after all. I exercised discretion. What sort of man has a shotgun marriage? The untrustworthy type, Camille. What if he’s a serial killer?”

And then Lloyd really laughed, because this trip would be all fun and games for him, being amused by other people’s misery and suffering. And that was precisely how he liked it.
October 08, 2017 12:57 am

Atticus Hammond

Atticus cowers in the back seat of the car, absolutely refusing to budge from his near fetal-like position, agile body wedged between the front seat and the back. And, yes, he’s crying. Atticus Hammond is in touch with his emotions, and he’s not ashamed. Not even when Camille comforts him. But that ends shortly after as she fights her way back out of the vehicle to reunite happily with Caitlyn. If Camille wants to walk back out into a warzone, Atticus won’t save her a second time. That, and he’s clearly having ‘Nam flashbacks. He quite literally dives to the floor of the car as the trunk door opens, because he’s just THAT terrified of further torture.

THIS is why Atticus hates human beings. That he despises socialization and contact oh, so much. It’s sh!t like this. None of this would have happened if he’d stayed at this trailer. Sure, he would never have met Camille, but then again, he wouldn’t have felt it necessary to offer a vacation that WASN’T their honeymoon. Instead, he plans the trip, down to the finest of details. He endeavors to be, at every turn, a husband and partner that Camille can rely upon. And he cannot help but notice that while they both love each other a great deal, Atticus cannot fulfill all of Camille’s needs. And he can never hold a candle to the bond and friendship that Caitlyn and Camille have – not that he has ever hoped to.

Just because Atticus doesn’t have friends outside of his wife, doesn’t mean he doesn’t understand the dynamic. However, like naturalistic observation, he prefers to watch rather than to participate or interfere. Friends are a waste of time, in his opinion. Few people have broken this mental barrier of his, and Camille is one of them. So, despite many trepidations, he crawls out of the car. Sweaty palms make a half-assed attempt at straightening out his clothes to make himself presentable. His gray eyes beg of a tumultuous mood, prepared to be obsequious to his wife’s will – and be polite to the people hosting them.

Of course Atticus wanted a hotel. He prefers his privacy, to make his own time, and the toiletries are a total bonus. But, Camille wanted this… American Horror Story-style house of Hell. And he relented with a smile, but he’s not a practiced liar. He’s well aware Camille sees through him on this front, but she’s getting what he wants, and Atticus has a happy wife as a result. There’s no reason to complain on that front.

His ideal vacation, by no means, is the present scenario. He envisioned them hunting Death Valley, California for desert necromancers, or Blood Mountain for, well, you get the point. He can’t even allow himself to feign excitement, because he isn’t a disingenuous man. He is, however, excited to be with his bride, and location is often insignificant. She has sacrificed so much him in such a short amount of time, not giving her the trip she’d asked for with Caitlyn would be violently selfish on his behalf.

Subsequently dusted off and straightened up, Atticus steps up behind Camille, a hand planting itself at her lower back. It’s mostly to be sure he is, in fact, alive. And, naturally, should he need to drag her back into the car, she’s conveniently at-hand. “Sorry, I was just…” He pauses, well aware that everyone knew he was a giant blubbering mess inside of the vehicle behind them.

Instead, he offers a hand in Caitlyn’s direction, only to decide mid-deployment a hug might be more appropriate. So, he finds himself stuck in an extremely awkward half-shake, half-hug scenario with his wife’s… colorful companion. “Hi, Caitlyn. I’m, er…” He releases her and pulls back, stormy eyes looking to Camille for support.

I’m Atticus Hammond. But you knew that already.” He clears his throat into a raised fist, seeming to sink back behind Camille more so than before. “Very lovely home.” He looks around, eyes finally falling upon Lloyd. “Oh, that’s not necessary, I can get those. Caitlyn, do I tip him, or..?” He blinks, looking over at Camille quizzically.

This isn’t America… Are you supposed to tip the help?” Because as if Atticus hasn’t already made a fantastic reputation for himself, he’s assumed the meat-heat holding like, a dozen bags is a member of the household staff.

Because apparently this is Downton Abbey. #edithdeservedbetter
October 10, 2017 01:47 am

Caitlyn Darrow


Forever glued to her own environment. In Caitlyn's world Camille and she were alone. Bouncing and shrieking happily, blabbering about in their own language. Hell, she doesn’t even acknowledge that Camille full named her husband first.

"CAMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!" Both her arms flail wildly in the air and she attaches herself to Camille. Any sort of dispute or misunderstanding upon their arrival had vanished. One might even say the pitcher filled to the rim with orange juice absolved them. Fiery tresses bounce off her shoulder and dance in the air with each new chipper bounce.

Caitlyn's head slowly cants to the right as Camille launches off the steps towards the car. The tiny redhead not far from her heels. She chooses to ignore the words bullet and gunfire. Those words sail over her head completely. That is until her husband mentions Freddie. Freddie! He could be the best help on planning a bachelorette party. "Freddie?! Freddie is here? Oh good! I need to ask him about Sunshine." She beams happily and ignorant to the silent hit the Darrows put on Atticus. It takes her this long to digest that he mentioned her brother-in-law and the gun cabinet. "Oh babe. You should go change that! Freddie could shoot his eye out." Caitlyn huffed.

Her husband seemed more amused in this scenario than he did on Wednesday nights. It causes her to rub her cheeks to hide the blush on them. "Lloyd. I came to your doorstep with a knock-knock joke. Remember?!" Cerulean eyes widen with pure excitement as she claps her hands in front of her. If she were a dog right now. The tail wagging would be monstrously out of control. Quietly she hopes Camille brought her a new squeaky toy. She needed it to combat the stress she felt. Trying to fixate her attention to their husbands was troublesome. Instead, she would rather get a head pat and braid her friend’s golden strands.

It was a slumber party after all. The husbands were just an added on bonus. After she jibbers on run on sentences of her delight they had arrived in one piece. Time to concentrate on Atticus Hammond. She's still partly clung to Camille, and ends up in a weirdly orchestrated three-way hug pat down.

"Atticus!? HI!" The name is shrieked like she had somehow morphed into a 12-year-old fan girl in the presence of their idol. Mainly because, this is how Caitlyn sees everyone for the first time. “I’m Cait!” He already knew that, since he had said the same things second later.

The earlier thoughts that tried to bring a negative storm to the evening were lost on her. At first she doesn't see he's talking about Lloyd, because she's busy in an intense stare down. Camille didn't know they were playing. But goddamn it, they were deep in this game. "Who? Tip? Huh?"

Her mood shifts as she moves her attention to see what Atticus is on about, and blinks slowly. "That's my husband Lloyd. This is actually his family home..Lloyd! Come here! You don’t have to tip my husband.. I don’t think." . Caityn is too chipper and energetic for the atmosphere of gun shells on the ground. The glint of one crosses her eye, and she grabs onto it curiously. Then her brows furrow in worry as she squats down to the pile of empty shell cases, head tilted to the left side now. Caitlyn's tongue pokes out of the side of her mouth and sits there while she's presumably thinking about something. It hurts the length of time she stands there in a Winnie The Pooh replica.Think, think, think. Annnd bzzzt it's gone folks.

"Hurry!Come inside! Lloyd made PIGSINABLANKETANDOMIGAWDYOUGUYSAREHERE." As if the party wasn't deaf from her and Camille's sorority girl shouts before. Surely, they were now as she tries to drag the couple into the estate.

Right then, her husband’s words enter the absent-minded woman. ‘What if he’s a serial killer?’ Caitlyn abruptly stops and leans her head towards where Atticus is. Using the movement to gather up a scent. He didn’t smell like Lloyd. Did all killers smell the same?

“Excuse me.” She clears her throat and uses her ‘motherly’ voice. Quite contrary to her actual actions of walking around him and sniffing the air. “Are you a serial killer?” Out of nowhere she lets out a rabid amount of barks at her friend’s husband and pauses to clear her throat.

“Did you..oh..” Caitlyn glances between the spouses and unfortunately for Atticus, her words are not library friendly. “YOU MIGHT WANT TO STOP AT THE RESTROOM. YOU SMELL LIKE A WET DIAPER.” She’s taken aback by the volume of her own voice and blinks sluggishly. “Sorry..Iwassupposedtousemyinsidevoice.”
October 18, 2017 12:03 am
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