Elise Solomon

"Il y a des fleurs partout pour qui veut bien les voir."

0 · 523 views · located in Budapest, Hungary

a character in “Luna Brilla”, as played by Sorella





|Full Name|
Elise Lila Solomon
December 18th


|Personality Traits|
Creative - Intelligent - Empathetic || Sensitive - Defensive - Reserved.


Growing up in the home that she did, led to Elise being because reserved. She didn't speak with others much because she didn't know what to say or how to say it. Most times her father would make her and her sister feel like shit to the point that Elise figured no one cared what she had to say anyways. Only person she would always keep talking to with no hold backs was her sister Serenity. Either way she was usually the kid sitting in the library reading a book away from others and loud noises. Just because she figured people didn't care much for what she had to say didn't mean she wasn't heavily opinionated. Elise always took a stance on something and she is someone who sticks with her ideals. Sometimes with her closer friends you'll find she is way more vocal about those opinions and a lot of the times people often just want her to shut up, because once she gets going it's rapid fire from there.

Her opinionated side is also connected to her defensive side. Often times if she feels like she is being attacked or feels like she may get hurt she puts up high walls and gets very defensive. It usually starts in the words that she says and the crossing of her arms. Her voice will raise and she will speak with harshness in her voice. She doesn't like to get hurt because when she does it hurts a whole lot more than it would the average person and she feels things on a much deeper level.

Speaking of feeling things on a deeper level, the girl is sensitive and empathetic. She often hears a story from somewhere and she's there crying with them, or she uses her intuitive sense to help her figure out how people may be feeling in a certain situation. Elise is very easy to make cry as well. Sometimes even just doing something wrong makes her want to cry and she feels it heavy in her chest. The girl can't help, but feel so much and usually she's like a sponge and soaks up emotions in the room. A lot of the time she's the quiet observer, which is why people being hostile with her can make her quite upset. Elise isn't the biggest fan of conflict and confrontation so to speak.

Watered down French accent. Adopted a bit of American slang.

Writing - This was something that Elise did a lot to get out a lot of hurt and anger from her life previous. It is her own hobby and outlet when it comes to her feelings and showing them, as she tends to stay quite reserved about feelings, unless she's comfortable with someone.
Gardening - She does this as a tribute to her mother and in her own little garden she had a little plaque she had made while in America for her mother. There's not a day that goes by where she doesn't think of her mother.
Drawing/sketching - This was something that she picked up in university from the fine arts majors. She began to really like it, and for the most part she sketches landscapes and the outdoors.

|Time at Luna|
One year.


"Her daddy was a mean old mister
Mama was an angel in the ground
The weather man called for a twister
She prayed blow it down"

One part perverted and chauvinistic and one part young and impecunious is what made up the background for Elise’s story. Her story goes way back to before she was even birthed. Her mother taken from her own country, abused and threatened to the point she couldn’t return or have the need to. Her mother was a lovely woman from Spain who was a very hard worker. She’d bend her back over just to help someone who needed it. She was delicate, soft, and beautiful. It made her the perfect target. Luckily she didn’t end up as someone’s fun night out. Lucky being the nicest way you could put it. She didn’t have to have her body violated and penetrated by multiple different men, instead at the age of eighteen she was a mail order bride. Jacques Solomon, had been seeking a bride. He wanted another nationality to take part in his children, and just someone young and beautiful to give him beautiful offspring. As well just to have something pretty to admire. Months after being sold to Jacques, Maria had married the man. It was only eleven months later when Elise finally came in.

When Elise was born, everyone thought that she was going to be a boy. Jacques was very excited to be getting the son he has always wanted. Someone to take on his family legacy and to continue the lineage. It was very vital that he would get a son. Unfortunately as you could guess, that’s not where this story goes. It’s not a happy upbringing and it’s not sunshine and rainbows. Jacques didn’t get a boy. He got a girl. Maria was pleased with the beautiful creation she was able to create. Maria loved her daughter dearly no matter what.

Next couple years, Maria was unable to get pregnant again. This made Jacques grow with anger more and more. To the point he would take it out on Maria. Slap her, violently shake her, pound her night after night trying desperately to get his wife pregnant. The farthest back Elise’s memory goes is remembering her father hitting her mom and her mom crying. Elise had always looked up to her mother and wanted to be like her. They would hang out and play with dolls all the time or they would run around the yard together. Elise remembers doing some gardening with her mother in the spring and summer months. The Forget Me Not flower was something they grew all the time and it has great sentimental feeling for Elise now.

Finally Maria got pregnant again, and by this point Elise was four almost five. Jacques ended up being much friendly and became easier to talk to. He would interact with Elise again, because now he was certain he was going to get himself a son. This was when he could really devote time and be the father his daughter needed. At the time Elise didn’t think much of it. Looking at it now she despises her father for it.

It was August 23rd when it happened. It was the day everything changed for everyone. Maria passed away, and Elise was left with an angry Jacques. He was blessed with another child, but this one was also not a boy. It made Jacques furious to the point he considered giving both his beautiful daughters up for adoption, but he knew he would be haunted for the rest of his life if he tried something like that. Serenity was her name. She was Elise’s little sister, and someone that Elise grew up to love and cherish.

Ever since that day, nothing reverted back to how it was. Not even after the fact that Jacques had finally remarried and got another wife. Day in and day out as Serenity got older, Jacques would blame her and verbally abuse her on why her mother was dead and that it was all her fault. The abuse never ended in the house. It was a house full of anger and yelling, and something that Elise never wanted to be part of. She was just there to comfort her sister after it all happened.

Elise worked her ass off in high school. She was involved with volunteering, some extracurriculars, and maintained a high grade point average. To escape it all, Elise applied to a school in America and once she graduated secondary school as valedictorian and got some scholarships, she headed to America for her new life.

Although her departure meant that her sister went missing. Her sister ran away from home and never returned. Of course no one dared to tell Elise that her sister was gone and missing. The next four years of Elise’s life she worked hard in university and finally got a Bachelor of Arts degree and took Sociology as her major and creative writing as her minor. Unfortunately most people with a BA didn’t get jobs right away, so she had to return back home to France. Which is where she heard the news of her sister running off. She found a letter from her sister on the direction she was heading and decided to follow it.

Somehow her sister had led her to Luna Brilla. Elise decided to check in and stay awhile. In the room that Serenity requested that she stayed in. How Serenity knew of the place was beyond Elise, but she decided to stick around awhile. Eventually figuring out that Serenity spent a lot of time at this place and knew some of the people, Elise decided she wanted to figure out some things and see if anyone knew where Serenity was, so that led to Elise applying for a staff position to work there. It also gave her a great time to focus on her career and practice it.

So begins...

Elise Solomon's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Deacon Beauchene Character Portrait: Tati Laurido Character Portrait: Elise Solomon Character Portrait: Max Evans Character Portrait: Cameron R. Character Portrait: Antonio Redding

0.00 INK

ImageMornings were the best part of Tati’s day, the routine was a comfort. She was usually the first to wake, she would make herself a cup of tea, unlock the balcony and sit out for the first cigarette of the day. It was the rare moments of silence she was able to experience, living in a hostel. She would climb up to a cozy flat spot on the roof and look out onto the sunrise, every morning, reminding herself where she was. It was easy to forget her fortune, lost in the endless stream of lost souls who distracted themselves with alcohol and sex. It took one to know one, she would remind herself - Tati just had to live well aware of her own shortcomings.

When her watch would beep her second alarm, that meant it was time to wake the others. Some of the hostel workers shared rooms, only those who had been around for years were privy to their own private suite. The rooms were decorated with flags of their own countries or sport teams, photos of their travels or their time here. Most of them had fashioned curtains to hide behind, occasionally some of them had an extra limb or two of the lucky guest of the night. It wasn’t Tati’s business, it was her business to get them to work.

Placing her cup on a desk in the reception room, she grabbed the task clipboards to start her rounds. Reception had the responsibility to start the free breakfast of boiled eggs, cereal, toast and marmalade - a standard cheap European meal. Tea and coffee were a given, but the guests had access to that 24/7, more or less. She double checked which beds had to be redressed, which beds had to be empty by check out and which should be left alone. It was details like these that often went overlooked, but without them the hostel would crumble. She hadn’t appreciated the assistant director before her enough before he left, now living a cushy life in Australia nursing his foot back to health.

Now Tati had to be the one to run operations, as much as she wanted to be the one still passed out in her bed. She threw open the doors of each room and turned on the light, she found her workers only responded to a rude awakening. “Get up bitches, time to work.” Her accent was thick, making bitches sound more like beaches, something most people got a kick out of. Despite having studied English all of her life, Tati had never shook her heavy Argentine accent - nor would she want to. As Tati would say, ”I am Argentine, why would I want to sound like anything else.

She hung the clipboard by the door for staff to begin their daily chores. “Oh Max, by the way you have laundry duty today.” She left on that note, then went on to do the same process to awake the occupants of the other staff rooms.

Tati had to appreciate her staff, despite their own faults, they were good workers, good people. Each of them came from different points of the globe, unique and essential. They had grown to be a family of sorts, she would even venture as far to say her children. She felt confident leaving the hostel in their hands if needed be.

Some guests had began to loiter in the common area, the look of misery on their face only proved the night before as a success. It had been open mic at the bar below, staff and guests alike were open to work the instruments and strut their stuff. It usually lead to belligerent behavior, as did every night in Budapest. When Tati had spent her time here as a guest she was able to enjoy such nights more. Now she had to babysit the lot, make sure they didn’t break anything or make babies on hallowed ground (which just meant her passing out condoms).

”Hey Tati, where’s breakfast?” slurred a guest, obviously desperate for some toast to soak up the remaining alcohol from the night before.

She grinned, ”9 o’clock, like every day. Drink some coffee, meena.” She teased, disappearing into the reception room to enjoy the last minutes she had alone with her tea.

Work days in the hostel went quickly, filled with answering the same questions day after day, giving recommendations and directions. When Tati wasn’t showing guests how to arrive to the Citadel or Sirius Tea House, she was behind her computer, tea in hand - mostly corresponding with administration. It wasn’t the most exciting part of the day, but it was a means to an end, and someone had to balance the books.

Five o’clock came like a much anticipated guest, Tati had an alarm in case anyone hadn’t been watching the clock - which they all had. Guests had began their pre drinking for the night, either playing drinking games in the common area or with a pint down below at the bar where romantic lights twinkled from above. Staff had to play catch up. Grabbing a handful of tall boys from staff fridge, Tati made her rounds to her busy bees. The beer meant the day was done for them, they deserved it. The festival was possibly the busiest time for them. ”Well done, beer time.” She said to each of them, cracking her own at the last distribution. ”You can find me at the bar!” she announced, ”BOAT PARTY IN SIX HOURS, WE LEAVE AT HALF PAST TEN.” She added, shouting across the hostel, her voice carried to down below.

Navigating down the stairs was like an obstacle course, she already could spot which couples would be causing noise in their dorm by the end of the night. As the professional she was, Tati finished her beer by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs. After spending all day trapped in the reception room, Tati needed a breather, preferably with copious beer and palinka shots. The bar stools were mostly empty, most people had gathered around tables, conversing. She took a seat at the end, beaming at the bartenders poised in their spots. “Amores, como va?” She leaned across the bar to give them a warm kiss on the cheek, ”Beer please, babes. She didn’t even know why she bothered asking, they knew Tati refused to be seen without a drink after 5, it was the only way she would be able to make it through a night in Luna Brilla.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Tati Laurido Character Portrait: Elise Solomon Character Portrait: Max Evans

0.00 INK

#, as written by Sorella


It was odd to think that over two years ago Elise had just graduated school and fly back home to France to find the note her sister had left her. It was a bit of a piss off. Elise had to save up some money to be able to follow the clues around Europe to find her sister. The different odd places she had stayed. Elise had been in Germany for a bit and found a note that was kept for her. It was the note that had eventually led her to Luna Brilla over a year ago. She requested the room that her sister had, and it took her about three months to find the clue.

That clue pointed into another direction, but Elise had different plans. She had adapted to the setting in Luna Brilla and she was rather fond of it. The people were great to be around and she really just didn't have a desire to go anywhere else. Nothing was calling her name, and the hostel was a good way to practice her profession a bit more and use it. She gets to see people from all over and witness the different cultures of people and watch their mannerisms. It really was a pass time of hers to people watch and just sit and observe.

Awoken by Tati was usually how most of her mornings went. Usually something that was yelled at her, but she didn't listen anymore. Groaning a little bit she got up and she made her bed before she did anything else. Finding a pair of black shorts to wear and a nice white shirt, she took it to the bathroom and she brushed her teeth and hair before getting into her clothes. Tying her hair up and putting her little flats on she grabbed her waist apron. Her garbage bags were in there and the little soaps in her other pocket.

She did the rooms that she was assigned to do. A few time in the day she saw Max with his dirty sheet toga and she couldn't help but laugh at the scene. Cleaning rooms wasn't that bad for Elise. She was rather used to it by now and it became the same old same old by this point. Most times she sang little tunes as she worked, dusting off cleared off surfaces, or cleaning the tub. Which ever it was she usually was in her own head space. It was how cleaning worked, it became so automatic to the point you were in your own little head space.

The day went by fast, and soon it was the end of the work day and everyone was given a beer. Elise downed it fast and went to drop off her apron in her room before she made it back down to the bar. When she got down there Tati was already there and Max was working. She sat on the bar stool, and she finally took her hair out, which made for the sweet release and she used her fingers to comb her hair out a bit nicer.

"Good evening everyone." She said softly.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Deacon Beauchene Character Portrait: Tati Laurido Character Portrait: Violette Elise Beaulieu Character Portrait: Elise Solomon Character Portrait: Bastiaan Vos Character Portrait: Max Evans Character Portrait: Cameron R. Character Portrait: Keon Kingsley

0.00 INK


As soon as daylight kissed the windowsill, Keon had already slipped out of bed and smoothed out the wrinkles from his sheets, crisply tucked in and folded two hands-down, like Tati had first showed him when he stumbled into Luna Brilla. Surprisingly broad shoulders dipped low, forefinger and thumb rubbing at his stubbled chin to admire his handiwork. Across the room was a softly snoring Max, face pressed into his pillow, as if he were embracing a lover. No doubt dreaming that he was. Even though he knew no amount of noise would wake him before those telltale alarms: one, two, three, four, five, six, Keon was still careful to tiptoe around the room, determined not to wake him until Tati drew in, momma-bear mode on, calling them all beaches in a way that sounded far more affectionate, than how his own mom had managed to snarl it.

Only moments before Tati had shoved their door open, narrow-eyes sweeping across the room like lamplight’s, demanding that they get their asses in gear with languid words curling around her native tongue, words he'd come to understand from being here so long. He might've still domiciled that deer-in-the-headlights look, but he made a damn mean bed. Equipped with nimble fingers, he fought meticulous battles in whatever room he was sent to clean up after, though it wasn't his central function. He dollyed luggage up the stairwells, through the elevator and into whichever room they belonged to; swept jackets off of shoulders, blubbered etiquette and politeness, and shuffled off to do whatever else Tati needed him to do, as quickly as possible.

Hush hush, this world is quiet.

Besides, getting up earlier than the others had its own set of perks. First dibs in the bathroom, and the shower, before anyone else could stumble in, snatching towels and shirts and pants, like Max had the habit of doing. One time, he'd been holed up in LB's indoor pool when Cameron convinced him that this right here, this was the prime time to take a dip, naked, because no one else would wander down at this time, and he'd listened, because he'd never done it before, and why the hell not? Or else, that was what he understood. With his limited Spanish vocabulary, he took shots in the dark. He'd been wrong before. Keon bundled himself up in the shower and washed his hair, with spear-mint and cantaloupe scented what-have you, before exiting just as quickly. Casual clothes. He slipped on a fitted shirt, long sleeves rolled up to his elbows, two top buttons undone, because that was risque, and Tati said he didn't live life on the edge. Not nearly enough to sashay with LB's high lifestyle. Nice slacks, Converse shoes. Brown hair tousled.

He checked the mirror, tested out a cheesy grin, and dropped it into a hard line, swallowing around the thick lump in his throat. It wasn't that working around LB made him inherently nervous, but... he'd opened up last night when they had karaoke. Drank way too much wine, or whiskey, or whatever drinks they were pushing into his sweaty palms. It'd been a hell of a party. Ties bound around heads, maybe even underwear. He wasn't sure he remembered. But he'd bumbled onto the stage, guitar in hand and sung embarrassing songs. Requests taken from the intoxicated, swilling crowd. I'm Too Sexy and That's Amore and I Want To Break Free. They came in hazy flashes, humiliating waves of things he didn't want to remember. He hoped everyone else forgot. Fortunately, only a thrumming headache teased at his temples, easily remedied with a good cup of coffee. Luna Brilla had the unfortunate habit of never letting you live down the things you did, even if it came at the expense of heartening back-slaps, cheek kisses and butt pinches.

Just as the sixth alarm sounded, Keon ghosted out of the room and into the hallways, delivering papers to their designated areas and picking up wayward trays left in the hallways, before delivering them back to the kitchen area. As soon as he was finished pacing down the hallways, picking up any trash as he went, he spotted Max lounging outside, sheets fashioned around his body—a toga, though he was wearing clothes. He jerked to a halt and scuttled way, shaky hands combing through his hair. He swore, if Max could traipse around Luna Brilla completely naked, around all of the clients, and get away with it, he probably would. A treat, he'd say, for everyone else. Wasn't that kind of shin-dig anyway.

It was the cloying smell of coffee wafting through the air that pulled him into the room, seduced him over to the coffee machine, and the french press, and hefted a content sigh from his lips, giddy as a kitten with a saucy of milk. This was the best time of day, in his opinion, even if his neighbors were cap-eyed boozers, late-night carousers, dragging their limbs like zombies rising from the dead. At least, they liked coffee. And they were too tired to throw him knowing winks, or make any saucy remarks about what happened last night on stage. Anyhow, if he remembered right, he hadn't been the only one singing. Though, Max always sang into the mic as if he were sweeping someone off to bed. Sometimes, he didn't doubt it. Eyes bright like two fevers, lidded invitations.

And he walked past one of Elise' rooms. He knew it was her, because he heard the ariose tones, silky hums, drifting from inside. Door propped open. Practically begging someone to overhear, as far as he was concerned. Sometimes, he idled beside them, though he'd never admit it. Other times, he shuffled past like he'd caught her coming out of the shower, face down-cast and hands shoved in his pockets, escaping like a thief in the night. Scrape at the bottom of Luna Brilla's barrels, and you found kind souls like hers under all that guff, all the parties, and wild stories, colors too bright for him.

Work day complete, it'd gone off without a hitch. Just like he liked it to go, and besides, Tati hadn't chuffed him for messing anything up, and he hadn't stepped on anyone's toes. Keon joined the others at the bar, a little more quietly than they had, slipping into a seat of his own, dropping his elbows across the freshly-wiped counter, a few feet away from Max and Elise. He offered a lopsided grin, “Hey guys.” A soft greeting accompanied by fingers scritch-scratching across his chin. Beer. Celebratory beer, always. He waggled his fingers and snatched it up, took a mouthful. Enough to appease. Besides, it was Deacon who'd pushed it across to him, feline-smile and expressive brows a sure-fire greeting in the heart of Luna Brilla, before he turned back towards the more stalwart of clients, already nursing fabulously crafted drinks. The bartender was a master at his craft, flipping up shakers, twirling them across his forearms, and tossing them in the air. Poured them into distinct glasses, coupled with quips. It seemed like he could guess at drinks before the orders left their lips: an ability that was mesmerizing, as it was impressive.

There was Cameron, too. A wildfire with a flare for confusing him at the best of times. She was nice, like the rest of them. Patted him on the head, coddled words in quick-fire succession, too fast to rearrange in his head, but he still liked the sound of it. She'd taught him a few words, told him they were loving ones. Suggested that he could whisper them against someone's collar bones. Not likely, he'd say, but she might be able to help him write a song, at least. He watched as she sidled up beside Deacon and offered a small wave, and a sheepish grin, before surveying the rest of the area.

There were clients he actually recognized. Those who didn't ghost in and out of Luna Brilla as if it was a stop-in depot. To these people, it was more of a home away from home. It was the way he looked at it too. Busying himself in his work, and his thoughts, was Bastiaan Vos. An icy-eyed author, absorbing his surroundings as if he could gather everyone up and shepherd them onto his pages. He'd been kind enough to let him peek over his shoulders, ever curious to what he was writing. Never quite shooing him away, as if he were a wet-nosed pup, too curious for his own good. It was appreciated. He never lingered for too long anyway. His eyes raked across the room of casual chatters, towards the more intimate ones, leaning across tables and chairs, lips pursed and mused over earlobes, just long enough for him to get hot under the collar, and focus further away, to the lonely, dusty piano. Occupied for once, which was surprising... someone was playing music surprisingly well, slender fingers plucking across ivory keys.

It was the clattering of an object smashing against the wall, and a frantic scream, that almost made Keon jerk out of his skin, hands cupping his beer before he accidentally swatted it off the counter. He knew where it'd come from and he'd seen many things before, but this was different. And he wasn't sure what he should do, in this case. His breath hitched, “Oi. She threw the phone. Against the wall. Should I—” An invitation for someone to step up to the plate, because he wasn't so good with smoothing out ruffled feathers. Leave that to those with silver-tongues, and speak-easies. He wore his emotions like a blanket snipped up to his chin. Not quite right for random outbursts.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Tati Laurido Character Portrait: Violette Elise Beaulieu Character Portrait: Elise Solomon Character Portrait: Bastiaan Vos Character Portrait: Max Evans Character Portrait: Cameron R. Character Portrait: Keon Kingsley

0.00 INK


Slowly people began to filter into the bar, as expected. From sunrise to sunset the hostel workers had been running around the place, it was no surprise when they came to settle in the bar. The sun was almost down, and while it’s light was no longer beating down on the masses, a humid heat still hung in the air. Tati could feel the fabric of her stool stick to the back of her legs, the jean shorts she wore hardly covered her legs. Her dark hair weighed down heavily, matting with sweat at the base of her neck, she did her best to wrap up the messy locks but she had very little luck.

The staff behind the bar had their usual charm, Tati expected nothing less. The tight skin across Cam’s abdomen beaded with sweat, the girl fanned herself, mentioning the heat. Tati grinned, it was strange to hear an Argentine complain about the heat. Half of the year the northern part of the country was as pleasant as wading through a murky New Orlean swamp, although Budapest summers were intense, their longevity was nothing compared to their home country. ”Re calor, claro.” She affirmed Cam’s statement, ”Pero por cuanto años vivé en Argentina, chabon? Eso es nadaa.”

Speaking with Cam was like a slice of home, she already was like family. Tati had grown up with Cam’s ex husband, their families would vacation together and spend every birthday and holiday together. When Tati heard of their divorce it broke her heart, she had always been fond of Cameron. The peliroja was a breath of fresh air for Tati, when her family would meet for birthdays Tati and Cam would be on the sidelines drinking beer and sharing spliffs. Tati had heard from relatives that Cam had plans to travel, so naturally Tati offered her a position at the hostel. It wasn’t long until the tattooed vixen found her way to Tati’s home and made it her own.

Max was serving the tables, Tati watched him out of the corner of her eye. While she hated to constantly be breathing over his shoulder, the free spirit had the tendency to piss around and leave the rest of the staff picking up his slack. His good nature made it difficult to yell at him, but when she saw him lifting the hem of his shirt she called out his name sharply. Either he heard her or lost interest because he laughed and carried on with his work, ending up in front of Bass, their longest guest at the moment. He was possibly the longest staying guest that didn’t become staff, but as a famous author he had no reason to work at the hostel. Tati never even offered because she couldn’t imagine the man folding sheets or making small talk with guests, it seemed surreal just to imagine it.

Tati finished the last of her beer when Elise and Keon joined the group. Keon had the same look of a lost puppy he always maintained, Elise just looked happy to be ending the day. Tati hopped to her feet, kissing them each on the cheek as a greeting - ruffling Keon’s hair. ”Good job today guys,” she said cheerily. Two beers in thirty minutes, she felt like she could do better. She motioned to Cameron to give her another to take off the edge, it was a very stressful week for her.

A loud crash was heard behind her, she looked to where one of their guests was hunched over the piano. “Oi. She threw the phone. Against the wall. Should I—” Keon started, letting his sentence trail off. It took everything in Tati not to laugh, dealing with a woman in a crisis was perhaps not his strong suit. ”Appreciate your initiative bebito, but I’ve got this one.” She said, patting his cheek affectionately.

Before she walked away, Tati wagged her finger at the rest of the bar staff, “Don’t over serve tonight, remember we have to walk them to the boat from here.” She warned, turning on her heel to approach the guest she recognized as Violette, the singer who was performing at the festival this weekend. She set down her half gone beer on a table and picked up Violette’s phone gingerly, setting it beside the girl on the bench. The music continued, and Tati didn’t dare interrupt it. She had her own love for piano, it’s notes were filled with so much melancholy, eliciting goosebumps along her entire arms.

”Impressive.” She said when the girl finally finished, Tati motioned to the phone. ”Hate to be this person, but probably not the safest thing to be throwing your phone at the wall. Tanto fuerza.” She teased, making herself comfortable at the edge of the bench. ”Nervous about performing?” Tati asked, glancing at her staff at the bar, with Max she always felt on edge to try and catch any shenanigans before they became a potential lawsuit. Reaching for her beer, Tati finished the rest and lit her cigarette, finally she felt like she would be able to handle the night.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Tati Laurido Character Portrait: Violette Elise Beaulieu Character Portrait: Elise Solomon Character Portrait: Bastiaan Vos Character Portrait: Max Evans Character Portrait: Cameron R. Character Portrait: Keon Kingsley

0.00 INK


“Nada para ti. Hell for me! No estoy hecho para esto. You’re just a sweet talker. So I stay.” Cameron reached over the bar to a beloved piece of home. The home she used to know, and the newer version. Sometimes it was hard not to get caught up in it. Every day with an ex-inlaw. But what Tati had given her was more than her husband ever could, and with no hard feelings amongst them and only understanding, native love... Cameron considered herself very lucky. A porcelain finger pushed some hair from Tati’s tawny face. “Mujer malvada.” They laughed, but only for seconds before an outburst interruption created silence among the happy affair. Keon’s eyes went a bit wide with surprise, the desire to fix the situation [surely not by himself, judging by the iron clad non-existence of reaction]. Tati was by no means surprised and well, Max - he was off doing a belly dance or some shit.

Cameron threw her hands up and raised eyebrows, “Loca blanca. Manejarlo. Not my ‘forte’.” She’d recognized the dark-haired fury from around the hostel, but Cameron was not an asylum to anyone. Not even herself. This particular pixie had a bone to pick and answers to find. She’d wandered around, half wonder, half woe. Sort of like a lost dog. Cameron did wonder what she was all about. What locks she was picking in her life, what demons were on the run to place her at Luna.

A watering hole for sin and salvation. It was all right as rain with Tati nearby, conducting the circus in a fashion that would never cause second guessing, but LB was just as much beauty as it was pain. An oasis that housed the excess that the rest of the world could not handle, all the elegance and agony of life’s abandonment. Runaways. Wives. Husbands. Rookies. Politicians. Orphans. Addicts. Saints. Aliases. Strays. Celebrities. What they all had in common was this sort of intact hope, however dingy, dangling from the end of their rope. And they weren’t all sad. But they were all here. And that had to say something about them, especially when they never left.

To prepare for an evening on some vessel, overloaded with champagne-wielding bottle poppers whose shouts echoed against rivulet walls, one had to have a certain tenacity about them. She sure had it, but sometimes it had to be developed by Jose Cuervo. Cameron’s cinnamon hair came into her hands to be tied into a messy pile atop her head as she breathed deeply, “Tomalo con soda,” Argentinian reel wrapped around her tongue, “But you sleep so much.” More than you fuck or fare. Her body pressed itself into a corner of the bar for a private minute. Eyes rolled toward the sky. It was criss-crossed with lamp wires, branches like broken wings shielding sloped hostel balconies. Sometimes it was better to talk to herself than seek the refuge of other people. This was home, and so was everyone there.

A twist of the ring on her finger had set her apart from conversation. The laughter and the slur of an evening underway, climbing steadily into Luna Brilla oblivion. The best kind of oblivion there is. Bats in the belfry, bewitching and glowing even more fierce than the river light that guided party boats through exotic euphoria. She basked in it. This is why she never left.

ImageThough she had heeded the warning of not over-drinking the guests, Cameron poured a few more before cleaning up the bar. Pushed the envelope of hip swiveling and smiles for tips. For the damage dealt against strict orders, she'd counter with a deal. Yep, you get your drink. But you have to drink eight ounces of water before you even think of getting your ass off that barstool. Perhaps Cameron had stayed mostly out of trouble because she'd handled a home before. Taken care of garbling messes, as well as cleaned up after them. Nobody left the bar on her watch in a dangerous state, whether to themselves or others.

Small talk amongst the suit and Max yanked her attention away from the tip jar. Had her closing it up and pondering curiously the quiver ripping through Max when he mentioned his former home, as well as Bastiaan's rather sudden intrigue. Cameron cocked a brow. Oh I just have to see where this goes.

But that blond haired baby boy just grinned goofy, same as always. Deflected in a way that most people couldn't detect. Carried on without a tick or falter in composure, though broken bones of burdens pricked under his skin. He was a GI of jacked up efforts. History and turmoil - he understood it. She'd picked up on it long ago, thanks to one too many secrets shared on the same row of bodies. "Isn't he gay?" They'd ask.

Well, yeah. Until I need him and this ring on my finger starts burning into my knuckles and I'm more adrift than the discarded plastic of Danube.

Locking up the register, Cameron poured herself an adios shot, as well as for Keon who was eyeing the chalky keys barely touched by agile fingers. His bright eyes needed a little more glaze. "Salud," she took it straight back, nodded to Tati, and then him, "Going to be a hell of a night."

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Deacon Beauchene Character Portrait: Tati Laurido Character Portrait: Violette Elise Beaulieu Character Portrait: Elise Solomon Character Portrait: Bastiaan Vos Character Portrait: Max Evans Character Portrait: Cameron R. Character Portrait: Keon Kingsley

0.00 INK

#, as written by Ivisbo

Bastiaan watched his subject’s movements with a critical blue gaze, his eyes focused on Max’s hesitant retreat to the excited grin that broke across his roguishly young face as he turned back around. Bass knew from the minute he met Max that the boy has an insistent need to verbalize all thoughts- even those others might deem too private to share with a drunk stranger- an over sharer, a trait most people might find incredibly irritating. But Bass was one of those beings that hated to share himself with others, socializing and reveals of any kind was about as appealing as bullet to the face- so he was glad for the people in this world that felt the need to express every detail about themselves to whomever asked. Maybe his insistent curiosity did not meld well with his cold, aloof demeanor. Maybe he seemed to be dissecting rather then learning, and perhaps his ulterior motives painted him as an untrustworthy confidante. But whatever others thought of him, he always had a knack for leeching their dirty little secrets out and tucking them away in his mind and journals for later use.

"London, mate. Born there, grew up there. Don't miss it much. Beautiful place, yeah. But cold. So bloody cold." Bass's gaze flicked to the quivering of shoulders, the look of discomfort, and a the revolving memories passing through Max's eyes like a film reel, "Why?"

A non-committal shrug, the slight movement of his shoulders being his only reply for a moment as he took a long sip of whiskey, "I lived in London mate, there’s no hiding where you grew up". Icy blue rolled up to meet sky blue, eyebrows raised, hands crossing in front of his mouth. Max’s deep drawling Londoner slang had pricked his ears when he first arrived- it took a lot for the dwellers of the grey north to abandon their precious city- a city that Bass himself equally adored and dreaded. Maybe that little slice of a past life in Max’s ever excited accent conjured memories of a life that could have been- another component into why Bastiaan often found himself following Max’s echoing jubilance through the bar.

Bastiaan could make up stories for the lives he saw in others footsteps. Max had been hurt as a child- that much he could tell. His insistent charisma and joy was a cover for something, and while Bastiaan could create his own series of events that left this young Londoner working in this strange little hostel so far away from home, he found himself interested in knowing exactly why Max was able to pretend to be so damn happy.

"Perhaps I wasn’t clear enough… I wanted to know where you are from" The corners of his lips switched into a small smirk, "Tell me something interesting. I know you’ve read my work, maybe you can wow me enough to be the next Simon"

Usually, Bastiaan wouldn’t push. Usually he’d avoid talking too much, seldom did he bring up his book, but with Max he knew what he needed to say to get the other male to talk. He required looseness, a slap of humor, maybe a bit of flirtatious sarcasm- traits Bastiaan knew well enough to copy for himself. Writing was acting, you needed to be able to flip between personality’s and mimic things that you would never do yourself. Bastiaan excelled at this to a point that he sometimes forgot where his personality started and the ones he created began.

Other then this excited puppy of a man, the others at the hostel all shared a communal aura of lost- a feeling that Bastiaan himself covered up with alcohol, anger, and blackout nights.

The leader of this strange little oasis, the beautiful Argentinian that Bas found himself opening up to in more ways then one, was an individual who’s warmth smothered you into a sense of compliance. Her abusive caring nature is infectious- her warm tan skin and long, exotic dark hair made a drunk Bastiaan loose his reservations and melted icy blue. Of all the workers and guests at Luna, Tati seemed the most grounded to him, but he knew that people that ordered their lives and those around them so meticulously had to have developed that need for a reason.

Other then Tati, the bartenders were the only other hostel workers that Bastiaan payed much attention to. The faces that kept his glass filled, the ones he silently watched and recorded, the ones that had to deal with his drunk mess when he went a little too far. Cameron, a woman who you’d have to be blind to not rake your eyes over, though Bastiaan continued to remind himself that those were the kind of women you avoided. Too at ease, too comfortable with themselves- a girl ripe and ready to wrap depraved men around her little finger. Keon and Deacon, the two males that had to manage guests and that flurry of red hair and Spanish, stroked Bastiaans need for reserved and quite when he needed. Their presence always paled in comparison to the two other bartenders, but Bastiaan would often purposefully place himself in either of the boys section if he wanted to avoid the rambunctiousness wake that fallowed Max and Cameron.