Damaged Petals.
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Caesar
- Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16141
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Damaged Petals.
Brice and his family forcing people to give up their babies and he beating women? That's crazy work. Couldn't be #MyQB. #JusticeForConnie
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Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 15617
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
gotta hear both sides
He sure seems like the type, doesn't he?
gotta have his day in court
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 7348
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Damaged Petals.
We four updates in and we got DV, abortions, and an arrest 
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Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 15617
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
Season 1, Episode 6
Brice placed his palms on his knees as he hunched over, searching for oxygen where none was to be found. He willed himself to stand up straight, taking a deep breath as he searched his father’s face. It remained impassive—unimpressed and unfinished.
He pushed off his back foot and began picking up speed, driving his legs against the muddied field scattered with cigarette butts and dog shit in the park adjacent to their house. He had fond memories of that park. The morning they got their golden retriever for Christmas, his dad had taught him how to walk the dog and pick up after it here. His dad had taught him how to throw here. He had taught his brother how to throw here too—playing catch until it got too dark to see the ball.
This morning wouldn’t become one of those fond memories. Brice finished another sprint, his legs burning as his lungs threatened to collapse. He’d gotten only a few minutes of sleep before his dad woke up. No words were needed—his dad dropped his cleats at the door and walked away. Brice knew better than to let him beat him to the park. He dressed fast, laced his shoes, and hurried out, reaching the gate just as his father did.
The tequila was already out of his system—he’d heaved it out by the fifth sprint. If any remnants remained, the next two cleared them, leaving him hollowed out.
Sophie woke up around the twelfth sprint, opening her blinds to let in some light. She hadn’t written in her journal in three days and was set on not making it a fourth. Grabbing it from her desk, she looked out the window—maybe searching for inspiration. She saw Brice instantly, sprinting across the park toward their dad. She couldn’t quite see him through the tree, but the way he stood—the way Brice looked at him—it was him.
At first, she enjoyed the discomfort her brother was in. But after a while, it got sad—disheartening, even—as he bent over and dry-heaved. She figured he’d stop any moment. He didn’t. He’d finish a sprint, look to their father, and take off again.
Sophie crossed the cold wooden floor and gently knocked on her parents’ bedroom door before pushing it open.
Her mom sat up in bed, still in pajamas, laptop open in front of her.
“You want some breakfast?” Liz asked, taking her glasses off and brushing her blonde hair aside.
“What are Dad and Brice doing?”
“What do you mean?” Liz asked, assuming her husband had gone to the gym like usual.
“Brice is running in the dog park,” Sophie said. “For, like, forever. Is he even supposed to be running?”
Liz didn’t answer. She grabbed her robe, slipped it on, and stood up. Sophie followed her downstairs, not wanting to miss whatever was about to happen.
The living room was dark except for the glow of the television, the light illuminating Jimmy’s face as he sat on the couch watching film of their upcoming opponent. He looked at his mom and sister, then back at the screen, grabbing the remote to skip ahead. Liz patted him on the head as she tightened her robe and headed outside.
They crossed the street and reached the park just as Brice started another sprint—more of a labored jog by now.
“What are you doing?” Liz demanded, turning to her husband. “He’s not cleared yet.”
“Good enough to drink, good enough to run,” Tom said, his face flat and unfeeling.
“Get your asses inside,” she snapped. “He’s got school in an hour.”
Tom didn’t reply. He uncrossed his arms and turned toward the house, walking past Sophie without a glance. Brice had stopped where his mother now stood in place of his father.
“Brice, get your ass inside.”
He ignored her and took off again, faster this time—arms pumping, lungs tearing. He didn’t stop long at the other end, sprinting right back.
“Hey!” Liz grabbed him by the collar as he slowed.
They didn’t exchange words, just a look. It was enough. He peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt, draped it over his shoulder, and walked past Sophie. He didn't look at her either.
...
Kavern clicked on another folder, scanning its contents before closing it and opening another. He didn’t understand how someone with as many cases as Rochester could be so disorganized—but it was that same dysfunction that made what he was doing possible.
Rochester, like many of the older detectives, stored files on the shared drive—accessible to anyone in the office. Kavern had raised the concern months ago, but as usual, it went ignored. This time, though, he was glad it had.
He searched by her name, then his. Nothing. He tried their last names—Gardner, Colton—still nothing. Sorting by “last modified,” he went through everything Rochester had touched in the last week. Still no luck. Maybe the old man had been clever enough to rename it.
Kavern had been the officer on scene when Rochester arrived at what might have been a crime scene. For all his flaws, Rochester was still thorough—interviewing everyone, even the ones who hadn’t seen a thing.
Kavern was about to give up—his patrol shift starting soon—when he noticed the “Restore from Backup” option. Of course. Right in front of him the whole time.
The restored folder was massive, containing every file saved in the last month. Kavern scrolled until one name caught his eye.
'Connie Gardner - 10 - 06 - 2025 - Det. Rochester - Original'
A few files down, he saw another file, this time a Word document with 'Transcript' appended to the name. Kavern looked around before pulling out his phone and plugging it to his computer.
Brice placed his palms on his knees as he hunched over, searching for oxygen where none was to be found. He willed himself to stand up straight, taking a deep breath as he searched his father’s face. It remained impassive—unimpressed and unfinished.
He pushed off his back foot and began picking up speed, driving his legs against the muddied field scattered with cigarette butts and dog shit in the park adjacent to their house. He had fond memories of that park. The morning they got their golden retriever for Christmas, his dad had taught him how to walk the dog and pick up after it here. His dad had taught him how to throw here. He had taught his brother how to throw here too—playing catch until it got too dark to see the ball.
This morning wouldn’t become one of those fond memories. Brice finished another sprint, his legs burning as his lungs threatened to collapse. He’d gotten only a few minutes of sleep before his dad woke up. No words were needed—his dad dropped his cleats at the door and walked away. Brice knew better than to let him beat him to the park. He dressed fast, laced his shoes, and hurried out, reaching the gate just as his father did.
The tequila was already out of his system—he’d heaved it out by the fifth sprint. If any remnants remained, the next two cleared them, leaving him hollowed out.
Sophie woke up around the twelfth sprint, opening her blinds to let in some light. She hadn’t written in her journal in three days and was set on not making it a fourth. Grabbing it from her desk, she looked out the window—maybe searching for inspiration. She saw Brice instantly, sprinting across the park toward their dad. She couldn’t quite see him through the tree, but the way he stood—the way Brice looked at him—it was him.
At first, she enjoyed the discomfort her brother was in. But after a while, it got sad—disheartening, even—as he bent over and dry-heaved. She figured he’d stop any moment. He didn’t. He’d finish a sprint, look to their father, and take off again.
Sophie crossed the cold wooden floor and gently knocked on her parents’ bedroom door before pushing it open.
Her mom sat up in bed, still in pajamas, laptop open in front of her.
“You want some breakfast?” Liz asked, taking her glasses off and brushing her blonde hair aside.
“What are Dad and Brice doing?”
“What do you mean?” Liz asked, assuming her husband had gone to the gym like usual.
“Brice is running in the dog park,” Sophie said. “For, like, forever. Is he even supposed to be running?”
Liz didn’t answer. She grabbed her robe, slipped it on, and stood up. Sophie followed her downstairs, not wanting to miss whatever was about to happen.
The living room was dark except for the glow of the television, the light illuminating Jimmy’s face as he sat on the couch watching film of their upcoming opponent. He looked at his mom and sister, then back at the screen, grabbing the remote to skip ahead. Liz patted him on the head as she tightened her robe and headed outside.
They crossed the street and reached the park just as Brice started another sprint—more of a labored jog by now.
“What are you doing?” Liz demanded, turning to her husband. “He’s not cleared yet.”
“Good enough to drink, good enough to run,” Tom said, his face flat and unfeeling.
“Get your asses inside,” she snapped. “He’s got school in an hour.”
Tom didn’t reply. He uncrossed his arms and turned toward the house, walking past Sophie without a glance. Brice had stopped where his mother now stood in place of his father.
“Brice, get your ass inside.”
He ignored her and took off again, faster this time—arms pumping, lungs tearing. He didn’t stop long at the other end, sprinting right back.
“Hey!” Liz grabbed him by the collar as he slowed.
They didn’t exchange words, just a look. It was enough. He peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt, draped it over his shoulder, and walked past Sophie. He didn't look at her either.
...
Kavern clicked on another folder, scanning its contents before closing it and opening another. He didn’t understand how someone with as many cases as Rochester could be so disorganized—but it was that same dysfunction that made what he was doing possible.
Rochester, like many of the older detectives, stored files on the shared drive—accessible to anyone in the office. Kavern had raised the concern months ago, but as usual, it went ignored. This time, though, he was glad it had.
He searched by her name, then his. Nothing. He tried their last names—Gardner, Colton—still nothing. Sorting by “last modified,” he went through everything Rochester had touched in the last week. Still no luck. Maybe the old man had been clever enough to rename it.
Kavern had been the officer on scene when Rochester arrived at what might have been a crime scene. For all his flaws, Rochester was still thorough—interviewing everyone, even the ones who hadn’t seen a thing.
Kavern was about to give up—his patrol shift starting soon—when he noticed the “Restore from Backup” option. Of course. Right in front of him the whole time.
The restored folder was massive, containing every file saved in the last month. Kavern scrolled until one name caught his eye.
'Connie Gardner - 10 - 06 - 2025 - Det. Rochester - Original'
A few files down, he saw another file, this time a Word document with 'Transcript' appended to the name. Kavern looked around before pulling out his phone and plugging it to his computer.
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Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 15617
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
no one said anything about yeeting fetus' broCaptain Canada wrote: ↑09 Oct 2025, 09:11We four updates in and we got DV, abortions, and an arrest
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redsox907
- Posts: 5549
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
Damaged Petals.
Messy family
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Caesar
- Chise GOAT
- Posts: 16141
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 10:47
Damaged Petals.
The skeletons in the closet gonna be crazy. Brice and the Coltons need to pay for their crimes
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djp73
- Posts: 12817
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Damaged Petals.
hung over sprints
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redsox907
- Posts: 5549
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
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Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 15617
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
these are the damaged petals, loc
boy throwing up straight brain particle