[table][tr][td][div style="width: 70px; height:70px; background-image:url(https://i.imgbox.com/4XVwGFUK.png); background-size: cover; background-position: top;"][/td][td][div style="width: 100px; text-align: center; font-family: arial; font-size: 7pt; color: #8A8A8A; line-height: 100%; padding-top: 5px; padding-left: 10px; opacity: 0.75; text-transform: lowercase"]Secrets on Broadway to the freeway, you're a keeper of crimes; Fear no conviction, grapes of wrath can only sweeten your wine

One couldn't hear crashing waves against the shore, no matter how romantic it would've been, from the Ferris wheel more inland - but watching over the beach at the top of it, if one was brave enough to slowly climb up from one carriage to the other through all the swaying and eerie creaks of metal, made it seem like they could. Just observing the water flush ashore and scatter over the sand, drawing back, to then again gather a sweeping tide larger than the last. The Ferris wheel carriages were just barely suitable for residing in; its rotating function being less gravity-based and more through mechanical control, for the most part the Ferris wheel was stable, but the carriages rocked and clanked in the wind, seeming to shudder at every movement. As Ferris wheel carriages did.

This, Rialto had trained himself not to mind. Having been living in one for months after the initial scrub at his carriage's rusting varnish, painting over it with tongues of gold and blue to mark, it was as though he no longer even noticed it swinging. Any reasonable living being wouldn't consciously put themselves at risk if there were clearly second options; it was understandable that while one could claim a carriage of their own to live in, as some did in the interest of shelter, it wasn't smart. Cooping up in long-abandoned apartment buildings with cobwebs between the broken wood panels and growing moss in the roof was wise. Setting up camp in a little metal cubicle with permanently opened windows, owing for the glass all shattering from the tsunami, and hardly enough room to even stand? Utterly appalling. Terrible. Not fun at all.

Essentially why he'd elected for one as his primary haunt, Rialto might suppose. It was temporary, cold scrap metal over his head and the whole thing jam-packed with more creative materials than living necessities - a little distant, a lot dilapidated. Keeping himself on his toes, or whatever it was.

The vampire was perched on the top of a carriage just three from the bottom, not out of sight but not in itself low, one leg hanging off the side and a mess of beads and strings in his lap that he was assembling absentmindedly. Bracelets for your phone: in the works. (Complexly interwoven loops that were even smaller than rings. Where would they even adhere to your phone? Good Question.) A pity that having a longer life and a tweaked digestive system meant half of nature was set on denying him; watching the sunset was about as romantic as watching the ocean, except he had to deck himself in full sun-protection gear. One turtleneck. Gloves. Hockey helmet. Carefully angled away from the sun. The whole shebang. He looked, hard, in the distance, as though he were contemplating something very deep and indeed worthy of looking long at the horizon for, wind tousling the hair around his face.

He wouldn't be making his sales target this month, it seemed. That had been the case for the past six months as well. Silently lighting a candle for himself, Rialto took a long swig of blood soda, only to realise the can was empty. With that, he gave an aggrieved sigh and promptly tossed the can somewhere over his shoulder. Please. It was so hard being talented.

[table][tr][td][div style="width: 70px; height:70px; background-image:url(https://i.imgbox.com/W8N8gUDb.png); background-size: cover; background-position: top;"][/td][td][div style="width: 100px; text-align: center; font-family: arial; font-size: 7pt; color: #ff0000; line-height: 100%; padding-top: 6px; padding-left: 6px; opacity: 0.75; text-transform: lowercase;"]my brother's friends explain to me, with breathless words and bloody knees; it's a black eyed trust, respect the pain.

Alexander loved Rialto, they really did. He was one of their best friends, had been a constant in their life for almost one hundred years, but sometimes - well, sometimes they just couldn't understand the guy. They were rooming with Catheryn in a one bedroom apartment down the street of the ferris wheel, close enough to Rialto and Marko's frequent haunts to feel like they could get to them if they needed to, and far enough to feel the disconnect. There was no reason for Rialto to be living in a carriage, especially when the four had lived together for so long, in conditions worse than a one bedroom apartment. The vampire chose to stay at the ferris wheel everyday, knowing his friends were just down the street with blankets, pillows  and blood sodas to boot. Alex just could not understand his lifestyle choices. Why give up a luxury like a roof over your head when you didn't know when you were going to lose it?

They're halfway up the ferris wheel when a can nails them in the forehead, surprising them enough to let go of the bar they're holding onto. Flailing for a moment before regaining their balance, Alex scowls up at the carriage the can had been thrown from, eyes narrowing. They pick up the pace and after a few moments they're scrambling into Rialto's carriage, pushing down one of his legs to make space for themselves. They reach over to flick his forehead, payback for the faint red mark forming on their own skin. "Stop littering, the ground below looks like a dump." They say in a way of greeting, flashing their friend a sly smile. "With all the supplies you have up here, I'm sure you could build a garbage can, or something." They sigh, shaking their head in feigned disappointment.

Alex follows Rialto's gaze to the sun setting just above the sea, their expression softening. They had always enjoyed watching sunsets, even if they had to put extra sunscreen on and hide in the shade to see it now. It always calmed them, filled their chest with a warmth that was unfamiliar most days. Alexander could count all the vulnerable moments they had shared with their friend on their fingers, but sitting with him and watching the sun dip below the water felt - nice. Alexander hums a soft tune as the sky turns orange and pink above them,  an abstract painting just for their eyes.

They glance back at Rialto to see his expression, keeping theirs under a face carefully blank. They wouldn't want anyone to know they were feeling soft, it would ruin their image. Zachariah might know they're not scary, but not all of San Creado was partial to that secret. The vampire moves to throw their arm around Rialto's shoulder, their smile as mischievous as always, but somehow softer. "It's beautiful, huh? Reminds me of the time we were in London." That's where Catheryn, Rialto, and Alexander had all met, wasn't it? Victorian era, in the dark of the night, as poor as dirt and still young bloods. A strange time, but the sunsets had been pretty.

&& 1/3 ferris wheel, 1/3 watch the sunset think? im on mobile so akdjffj

[size=10pt]Zachariah doesn't feel a thing, but he still cringes when something sprouts from between his shoulder blades. The little transformation is quick and not as grotesque as he imagines it to be, but listening to his bones crack and break as they organize themselves makes him cringe. It saves him from falling several feet to the ground and possibly shattering into a thousand tiny pieces, sure, but he feels that it only draws more attention to him, and that's the last thing he wants. He's already walking around dressed head to toe in heavy winter wear, a meek attempt to muffle the stench of rotten flesh and formaldehyde, but wings? That's just over the top.

As he carries himself up to the carriage where everyone else is congregated, Zach tries his best to keep himself covered with his heavy coat, as much as the wings will allow. He's known ever since he got here that he isn't a pleasant sight, let alone smell, so he would rather not let anyone fully witness the state his body is in. Self-conscious as he is, he reminds himself that he had come up here for company, though he kind of feels out of place. Everyone is - or at least appears to be - much younger than he is. Zachariah likes kids as much as the next guy, but unless they need help with their biology homework, he doesn't really know what to say.

"Awh, don't bully 'im," he pipes. "I like his macaroni art." He doesn't really, but he knows better than to tell him the truth. At best, he's indifferent to it. It's no better than that of a kindergartener's mindless scribbles. Maybe if he were actually five years old, Zachariah would offer him a pat on the back and an enthusiastic "good job," but the most he can do is lazily come to his defense. "Why d'you make all these... trinkets anyway?" Zach can't imagine that his little business is actually booming. These things, charming as they are, are the most useless things one could possibly have. He wants to know just why Rialto makes these things. He'll at least give him props for never losing his motivation, even though he assumes that Rialto makes about two dollars a month off of his little business.

"What are y'all doing up here?" Being so high up is quite impractical. Someone's bound to take a tumble, and he would sure hate if he got roped into cleaning it up. He's already hidden enough bodies in the past ten months. "If anyone falls 'n' breaks somethin', I ain't liable." Does he count as adult supervision?