Naril
Red HoodI'll post tomorrow night. Wanted to post last night, but passed out, and had to wrap up some contracting stuff tonight.
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How will the night end? Who will sleep? And where the Hell is Julie the Cruise Director?
"As long as you remain on this ship, you’re safe."
After Maddox departed, Rathe gave a slow, soft clap. "A little fucking dramatic if you ask me, but worth the price of admission." Inside, she hoped to Hell it wasn't just theatre and that she hadn't paid a ridiculous amount of cash for a poorly-acted dinner party mystery that would never end. Shit, if that was the case, she off herself with that damned pistol. Momentarily, she glanced at her pack uncertainly before shoving a hand into a small pouch at the back to retrieve another hand-rolled "cigar" and a lighter. Rathe inhaled sharply, coaxing the smoke through the fibers, and held her breath as smoky threads drifted up from the end of the cigar. She stole a lingering glance at the woman with the sun tattoo as she slipped her pack across her shoulder and snatched up the bottle of tequila. Passing by the other ladies on her way around the bar toward the exit, she exhaled a long stream of hashish-laden smoke. "A dopo."
Rathe hadn't seen where he went after leaving the living area, but how far could he have gone? It was a damn boat, or ship, or whatever, after all. Jørgen, or Dustin. She shook her head, sending ropes flopping about her shoulders. It took some poking around before she found him. She stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame and watching, as he put on a record and, of all things, something slow and kind of sad. It took her back for a moment, or maybe it was just her high kicking in again, to a night an eternity ago when a handsome Dutchman approached her for a dance. It had seemed almost old fashioned, and she'd nearly brushed off the invitation, but it somehow felt familiar, like it'd happened before. Like they'd happened before. "Yeah, it's just the fucking high," Rathe said to herself as she walked toward the pool table, setting down her pack and the bottle of tequila, which she only now noticed had to be the high-end shit given the ornate crystal, curved shape of the bottle, and deep golden hue of the liquor within.
Rathe took a stick from the wall-mounted rack, glancing down its length appraisingly, and gauged its weight with her fingertips. Satisfied, she looked down at the table before walking around it to within inches of Dustin. She locked his gaze, her own eyes a bit glassy from the hash, then withdrew the cigar and exhaled a puff of smoke to encircle him, "Care to place a wager?"
After Maddox departed, Rathe gave a slow, soft clap. "A little fucking dramatic if you ask me, but worth the price of admission." Inside, she hoped to Hell it wasn't just theatre and that she hadn't paid a ridiculous amount of cash for a poorly-acted dinner party mystery that would never end. Shit, if that was the case, she off herself with that damned pistol. Momentarily, she glanced at her pack uncertainly before shoving a hand into a small pouch at the back to retrieve another hand-rolled "cigar" and a lighter. Rathe inhaled sharply, coaxing the smoke through the fibers, and held her breath as smoky threads drifted up from the end of the cigar. She stole a lingering glance at the woman with the sun tattoo as she slipped her pack across her shoulder and snatched up the bottle of tequila. Passing by the other ladies on her way around the bar toward the exit, she exhaled a long stream of hashish-laden smoke. "A dopo."
Rathe hadn't seen where he went after leaving the living area, but how far could he have gone? It was a damn boat, or ship, or whatever, after all. Jørgen, or Dustin. She shook her head, sending ropes flopping about her shoulders. It took some poking around before she found him. She stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame and watching, as he put on a record and, of all things, something slow and kind of sad. It took her back for a moment, or maybe it was just her high kicking in again, to a night an eternity ago when a handsome Dutchman approached her for a dance. It had seemed almost old fashioned, and she'd nearly brushed off the invitation, but it somehow felt familiar, like it'd happened before. Like they'd happened before. "Yeah, it's just the fucking high," Rathe said to herself as she walked toward the pool table, setting down her pack and the bottle of tequila, which she only now noticed had to be the high-end shit given the ornate crystal, curved shape of the bottle, and deep golden hue of the liquor within.
Rathe took a stick from the wall-mounted rack, glancing down its length appraisingly, and gauged its weight with her fingertips. Satisfied, she looked down at the table before walking around it to within inches of Dustin. She locked his gaze, her own eyes a bit glassy from the hash, then withdrew the cigar and exhaled a puff of smoke to encircle him, "Care to place a wager?"
(Elvira) "Prego. May I know your name?"
The blunt glowed a brilliant orange as Rathe burned out the last of the hashish in a lingering drag, which she held, eyes closed, for a good while before letting the smoke escape slowly through her nostrils. "Rathe." Opening her eyes, she looked at the woman who'd served the wine, studying her momentarily before reaching across to run her finger gently along the outline of the sun tattooed across the woman's shoulder. "That's nice work." Rathe's finger trailed down her biceps along the paisley design before disengaging. She'd been leaning back against the bar, from behind it, and hadn't seen the other women approach. Roused would be the word for her reaction, since she was high enough to not be startled when the voices rose behind her.
"Rathe," she offered, flatly, as she looked past the other women toward the men seated in the parlor proper. "Credo che stiamo andando per rendere più facile per loro stasera." When there was no reply, she tossed back the wine and chased it with an exasperated, "Cazzo! Sorry. I said we're making it easy for them tonight." Indeed, the ladies had all congregated around the bar and were happily drinking away. "I hope they'll be gentlemen," she added, "but I wouldn't count on it."
The blunt glowed a brilliant orange as Rathe burned out the last of the hashish in a lingering drag, which she held, eyes closed, for a good while before letting the smoke escape slowly through her nostrils. "Rathe." Opening her eyes, she looked at the woman who'd served the wine, studying her momentarily before reaching across to run her finger gently along the outline of the sun tattooed across the woman's shoulder. "That's nice work." Rathe's finger trailed down her biceps along the paisley design before disengaging. She'd been leaning back against the bar, from behind it, and hadn't seen the other women approach. Roused would be the word for her reaction, since she was high enough to not be startled when the voices rose behind her.
"Rathe," she offered, flatly, as she looked past the other women toward the men seated in the parlor proper. "Credo che stiamo andando per rendere più facile per loro stasera." When there was no reply, she tossed back the wine and chased it with an exasperated, "Cazzo! Sorry. I said we're making it easy for them tonight." Indeed, the ladies had all congregated around the bar and were happily drinking away. "I hope they'll be gentlemen," she added, "but I wouldn't count on it."
“Anything?”, Rathe quipped, arching her brow with a smirk.
Rathe slipped her pack from her shoulder, setting it carefully on a cushioned stool toward the side of the bar. She poured herself another shot, downing it nearly as quickly as it'd been poured, before dutifully setting herself to task. By her estimation, the best mixer for rum was a couple ice cubes and a squeeze of lime, the latter of which she was surprised to find already prepared and chilling in the ice bin. Rathe passed over the cheap well shit and went for a clear bottle behind the bar with a dark, molasses-colored spirit, combining it with the ice and lime in a quick stir with her finger. Licking her finger, and apparently satisfied with the result, she poured a second and added a splash of club soda to give the "cola" some fizz.
Rathe slipped around the bar, her hip lightly brushing the recent arrival rummaging through the wine fridge as she passed, and presented the gentlemen their drinks, "cola" first, followed by "anything with rum". "Saluti!" She let her gaze linger a little longer than necessary on the latter man, seeing Jørgen's face instead. She hadn't been in love with Jørgen, but he'd been good to her and, more importantly, he was a great lay. It bothered her, though, the way she'd left things - he believed she was actually coming back. It was cruel to let him think that, and she'd done it without a thought. A pang of guilt, remorse, or whatever formed a sick pit in her gut prompting her to break eye contact and return to the narrow space behind the bar, which she shared with the wine enthusiast. Sliding a broad-bottomed glass from its rack, Rathe set it gently on the bar, "Perfavore caro. I'd love a glass."
Rathe slipped her pack from her shoulder, setting it carefully on a cushioned stool toward the side of the bar. She poured herself another shot, downing it nearly as quickly as it'd been poured, before dutifully setting herself to task. By her estimation, the best mixer for rum was a couple ice cubes and a squeeze of lime, the latter of which she was surprised to find already prepared and chilling in the ice bin. Rathe passed over the cheap well shit and went for a clear bottle behind the bar with a dark, molasses-colored spirit, combining it with the ice and lime in a quick stir with her finger. Licking her finger, and apparently satisfied with the result, she poured a second and added a splash of club soda to give the "cola" some fizz.
Rathe slipped around the bar, her hip lightly brushing the recent arrival rummaging through the wine fridge as she passed, and presented the gentlemen their drinks, "cola" first, followed by "anything with rum". "Saluti!" She let her gaze linger a little longer than necessary on the latter man, seeing Jørgen's face instead. She hadn't been in love with Jørgen, but he'd been good to her and, more importantly, he was a great lay. It bothered her, though, the way she'd left things - he believed she was actually coming back. It was cruel to let him think that, and she'd done it without a thought. A pang of guilt, remorse, or whatever formed a sick pit in her gut prompting her to break eye contact and return to the narrow space behind the bar, which she shared with the wine enthusiast. Sliding a broad-bottomed glass from its rack, Rathe set it gently on the bar, "Perfavore caro. I'd love a glass."
The heels of her boots clicked softly against the pavement as Rathe made her way along the docks. She'd been walking for a while, hefting a camel-colored Prada backpack across one shoulder and struggling with a military-style duffel bag. Truth be told, she hadn't been walking nearly as long as she'd been sitting atop the duffel, but she'd felt claustrophobic back at the hotel, despite the lavish accomodations. Hell, the city itself felt like it was closing in around her even as she dragged that damned bag like an anchor. She'd likely have ditched it and gone into a sprint for the Crescenzo but for the 5pm boarding time and the thin cigar hanging loosely from her crimson lips, it's smoke encircling her in a hazy wreath that smelled of cloves and hashish. As it was, she'd apparently just made it. The confirmation needed no watch nor cell phone because the ship was still there and, though she was certain the margin was thin - and that was all that counted. Letting the duffel down with a soft thud, she turned her left arm over and glanced at her wrist with trepidation, before resuming her march toward the ship with a sigh of resignation.
It wasn't what she expected, but she had no idea what to expect really. It was beautiful and clearly well-maintained, but much more than she'd anticipated. Given the circumstances, she'd half expected a Somali freighter packed with borderline pirates who'd ... If she'd let her imaginings wander that far she'd have never shown up at all. Per the instructions, she collected her key and found her way to cabin 102. Barely inside, she let the duffel fall and the door close behind her, leaning her body against it and, for a moment, allowing her emotions release. Rathe choked a single sob into her fist and then slapped the polished wood door in frustration. Leaning back against the door, she pulled in a long drag from her cigar and closed her eyes, whispering words of encouragement to herself. She slid the Prada bag about halfway down her arm before hefting it back up on her shoulder again and slipping from her quarters.
The living area was within staggering distance of her stateroom, and that was a silver lining if ever there was one. On entering, Rathe's eyes shot past the others in assemblage and set themselves on the bar, leading the rest of her. It was a tequila, neat, that finally lured the cigar from her lips. She stood there behind the bar for a moment, dressed in a loose-fitting linen skirt colored in earth tones and a plain white ribbed tank top, which revealed easily a dozen different tattos, before taking another long drag from her nearly-spent cigar and chasing it with a shot of tequila. "Can I get anything for anyone while I'm here?"
It wasn't what she expected, but she had no idea what to expect really. It was beautiful and clearly well-maintained, but much more than she'd anticipated. Given the circumstances, she'd half expected a Somali freighter packed with borderline pirates who'd ... If she'd let her imaginings wander that far she'd have never shown up at all. Per the instructions, she collected her key and found her way to cabin 102. Barely inside, she let the duffel fall and the door close behind her, leaning her body against it and, for a moment, allowing her emotions release. Rathe choked a single sob into her fist and then slapped the polished wood door in frustration. Leaning back against the door, she pulled in a long drag from her cigar and closed her eyes, whispering words of encouragement to herself. She slid the Prada bag about halfway down her arm before hefting it back up on her shoulder again and slipping from her quarters.
The living area was within staggering distance of her stateroom, and that was a silver lining if ever there was one. On entering, Rathe's eyes shot past the others in assemblage and set themselves on the bar, leading the rest of her. It was a tequila, neat, that finally lured the cigar from her lips. She stood there behind the bar for a moment, dressed in a loose-fitting linen skirt colored in earth tones and a plain white ribbed tank top, which revealed easily a dozen different tattos, before taking another long drag from her nearly-spent cigar and chasing it with a shot of tequila. "Can I get anything for anyone while I'm here?"
@HangYourSecrets Yeah, he and Rathe could certainly find some common ground, if they can stay coherent long enough. He actually looks very similar to how I imagined her boyfriend/fiance. She's very talented in something he has a passion for. And, no, it's not *that* ;-)
Rathe (/rayTH/) Catanzano
27|March 30|5'6"|115 lbs.
Appearance:
Description
Rathe is a lightly built young woman, though not frail in appearance, with dark eyes and espresso-brown hair that falls well past her shoulders in long ropes, though she invariably dyes some of the locks red, black, both, or something else entirely. Her features are soft and vaguely Italian in origin, though her multi-hued hair tends to make the connection less obvious. When she speaks, she's prone to voice her opinion without filters in the thick flourishes of an Italian accent, complete with an array of regional colloquialisms that betray her worldliness. Her choice of language fluctuates, and can do so mid-sentence, from Dutch or English to her native Italian. While she tries to catch and correct herself, others are often left to their own devices in figuring out the various pieces of her fractured sentences. Her dress is eclectic and tends to portray her moods, ranging from a more comfort-oriented base state upwards, but is always fashionable if not also a tad revealing. Any bared portions of her skin tend to be adorned with tattoos of various sorts, some with rich, vibrant colors and others of a more monochromatic tribal sort. She's fond of drink and can often be found perched atop a bar stool wreathed in a cloud of cigar smoke and smelling of booze. The latter penchants frequently gain her entry into the conversations of men, who find in her an attractive and engaging drinking buddy.
Personality
Generally speaking, her demeanor is warm and vivacious - she laughs easily and is frequently flirtatious, though seldom genuinely interested in pursuing things further. However, little provocation, either real or perceived, is required to bring out a more flippant persona that eschews authority and can be outright confrontational. In light conversation, she's downright chatty and easily able to carry on for hours; however, when pressed about herself becomes evasive and is quick to change the topic. It takes little time to discern that the young woman is an idealist, though the principles that drive her may be less certain and she's seldom forthcoming about them. The handful that can call her friend find her a loyal and resourceful ally, in whom they can place their complete confidence. Others will find in her a pragmatist that's more than capable of thriving in virtually any environment and willing to beg, borrow, or steal her way to any end. While not prone to quick provocation, her fuse has been decidedly shortened of late though she attributes it less to general edginess than lack of sleep.
Before “Open Waters” (Background)
He must've dozed off, as a chime at the door caught Jørgen quite by surprise. Rathe was no longer lying beside him, which caused a momentary panic until his ears caught the sound of the shower running. Quickly, he threw a sheet around his waist and answered the door, leading the room service attendant quietly to begin making arrangements on the balcony overlooking Amsterdam. No sooner had the attendant been tipped and shooed off, than Rathe emerged with a towel wrapped snugly around her. "Buongiorno dormiglione." With one hand holding the towel in place, she wrapped the other around his neck and pulled him closer, the pair sharing a long kiss that might've led to more had his resolve not been steeled by the lateness of the hour. Soon, she'd be gone. Breaking away, he motioned for her to sit, pouring her a mimosa and taking the seat across from her. He waited impatiently, nerves wreaking havoc with his insides, for her to lift the silvery cover from her plate. No sooner had she done so, then she replaced it and rose from the table.
He sat there for several moments, his mind empty from the shock of having been so thoroughly rejected, until she returned fully dressed and bent down to kiss his lips gently. Her voice was soft and barely more than a whisper, "Yes, but that's your grandmother's ring. There's no way I'm gonna risk losing it." His confused mind turned over what she'd said, which his gut told him was yes ... she said yes! Didn't she? Finally, he found his voice as the door swished open to allow her into the hall, "Hey, did you just say yes?!?"
"Sì" Rathe blew him a kiss, and then she was gone.
In her imaginings, she'd wanted so much more than a night of passion punctuated with a bittersweet note, but knew nothing remained for her there. The job had been simple, like a dozen before - a specific place, a specific task, and the tools to accomplish it. They paid well and the arrangement, albeit unusual, had been so fluid as to become routine ... until now. However, fortune smiled in the form of an anonymous payment and the name, Crescenzo.
Strengths
Rathe is an exceptional artist, much of her talent being attributed to keen perception and attentiveness to detail. It's common for her to notice things that others overlook, though the most subtle of these may be captured as a general impression that's hard to articulate. Given time, however, Rathe can usually render them visually through her art. That, and her vagabond lifestyle, have developed a sort of situational savvy - she can handle herself and is confident in her ability to do so. She's fluent in Italian, English, Dutch, and German.
Weaknesses
Rathe tends to be irresponsible, at best, though reckless is more the norm when it comes to herself. To say that she spends a significant portion of her waking hours under the influence of one thing or another wouldn't be an exaggeration, especially of late. More recently, she's also begun to suffer from insomnia, which has greatly exacerbated her substance issues.
27|March 30|5'6"|115 lbs.
Appearance:
Description
Rathe is a lightly built young woman, though not frail in appearance, with dark eyes and espresso-brown hair that falls well past her shoulders in long ropes, though she invariably dyes some of the locks red, black, both, or something else entirely. Her features are soft and vaguely Italian in origin, though her multi-hued hair tends to make the connection less obvious. When she speaks, she's prone to voice her opinion without filters in the thick flourishes of an Italian accent, complete with an array of regional colloquialisms that betray her worldliness. Her choice of language fluctuates, and can do so mid-sentence, from Dutch or English to her native Italian. While she tries to catch and correct herself, others are often left to their own devices in figuring out the various pieces of her fractured sentences. Her dress is eclectic and tends to portray her moods, ranging from a more comfort-oriented base state upwards, but is always fashionable if not also a tad revealing. Any bared portions of her skin tend to be adorned with tattoos of various sorts, some with rich, vibrant colors and others of a more monochromatic tribal sort. She's fond of drink and can often be found perched atop a bar stool wreathed in a cloud of cigar smoke and smelling of booze. The latter penchants frequently gain her entry into the conversations of men, who find in her an attractive and engaging drinking buddy.
Personality
Generally speaking, her demeanor is warm and vivacious - she laughs easily and is frequently flirtatious, though seldom genuinely interested in pursuing things further. However, little provocation, either real or perceived, is required to bring out a more flippant persona that eschews authority and can be outright confrontational. In light conversation, she's downright chatty and easily able to carry on for hours; however, when pressed about herself becomes evasive and is quick to change the topic. It takes little time to discern that the young woman is an idealist, though the principles that drive her may be less certain and she's seldom forthcoming about them. The handful that can call her friend find her a loyal and resourceful ally, in whom they can place their complete confidence. Others will find in her a pragmatist that's more than capable of thriving in virtually any environment and willing to beg, borrow, or steal her way to any end. While not prone to quick provocation, her fuse has been decidedly shortened of late though she attributes it less to general edginess than lack of sleep.
Before “Open Waters” (Background)
He must've dozed off, as a chime at the door caught Jørgen quite by surprise. Rathe was no longer lying beside him, which caused a momentary panic until his ears caught the sound of the shower running. Quickly, he threw a sheet around his waist and answered the door, leading the room service attendant quietly to begin making arrangements on the balcony overlooking Amsterdam. No sooner had the attendant been tipped and shooed off, than Rathe emerged with a towel wrapped snugly around her. "Buongiorno dormiglione." With one hand holding the towel in place, she wrapped the other around his neck and pulled him closer, the pair sharing a long kiss that might've led to more had his resolve not been steeled by the lateness of the hour. Soon, she'd be gone. Breaking away, he motioned for her to sit, pouring her a mimosa and taking the seat across from her. He waited impatiently, nerves wreaking havoc with his insides, for her to lift the silvery cover from her plate. No sooner had she done so, then she replaced it and rose from the table.
He sat there for several moments, his mind empty from the shock of having been so thoroughly rejected, until she returned fully dressed and bent down to kiss his lips gently. Her voice was soft and barely more than a whisper, "Yes, but that's your grandmother's ring. There's no way I'm gonna risk losing it." His confused mind turned over what she'd said, which his gut told him was yes ... she said yes! Didn't she? Finally, he found his voice as the door swished open to allow her into the hall, "Hey, did you just say yes?!?"
"Sì" Rathe blew him a kiss, and then she was gone.
In her imaginings, she'd wanted so much more than a night of passion punctuated with a bittersweet note, but knew nothing remained for her there. The job had been simple, like a dozen before - a specific place, a specific task, and the tools to accomplish it. They paid well and the arrangement, albeit unusual, had been so fluid as to become routine ... until now. However, fortune smiled in the form of an anonymous payment and the name, Crescenzo.
Strengths
Rathe is an exceptional artist, much of her talent being attributed to keen perception and attentiveness to detail. It's common for her to notice things that others overlook, though the most subtle of these may be captured as a general impression that's hard to articulate. Given time, however, Rathe can usually render them visually through her art. That, and her vagabond lifestyle, have developed a sort of situational savvy - she can handle herself and is confident in her ability to do so. She's fluent in Italian, English, Dutch, and German.
Weaknesses
Rathe tends to be irresponsible, at best, though reckless is more the norm when it comes to herself. To say that she spends a significant portion of her waking hours under the influence of one thing or another wouldn't be an exaggeration, especially of late. More recently, she's also begun to suffer from insomnia, which has greatly exacerbated her substance issues.
@twannyman
That doesn't mean I do ;-) She's been living in Amsterdam for quite a while so, yeah, but I wouldn't call it her best language by any stretch.
That doesn't mean I do ;-) She's been living in Amsterdam for quite a while so, yeah, but I wouldn't call it her best language by any stretch.
Rathe (/rayTH/) Catanzano
27|March 30|5'6"|115 lbs.
Appearance:
Description
Rathe is a lightly built young woman, though not frail in appearance, with dark eyes and espresso-brown hair that falls well past her shoulders in long ropes, though she invariably dyes some of the locks red, black, both, or something else entirely. Her features are soft and vaguely Italian in origin, though her multi-hued hair tends to make the connection less obvious. When she speaks, she's prone to voice her opinion without filters in the thick flourishes of an Italian accent, complete with an array of regional colloquialisms that betray her worldliness. Her choice of language fluctuates, and can do so mid-sentence, from Dutch or English to her native Italian. While she tries to catch and correct herself, others are often left to their own devices in figuring out the various pieces of her fractured sentences. Her dress is eclectic and tends to portray her moods, ranging from a more comfort-oriented base state upwards, but is always fashionable if not also a tad revealing. Any bared portions of her skin tend to be adorned with tattoos of various sorts, some with rich, vibrant colors and others of a more monochromatic tribal sort. She's fond of drink and can often be found perched atop a bar stool wreathed in a cloud of cigar smoke and smelling of booze. The latter penchants frequently gain her entry into the conversations of men, who find in her an attractive and engaging drinking buddy.
Personality
Generally speaking, her demeanor is warm and vivacious - she laughs easily and is frequently flirtatious, though seldom genuinely interested in pursuing things further. However, little provocation, either real or perceived, is required to bring out a more flippant persona that eschews authority and can be outright confrontational. In light conversation, she's downright chatty and easily able to carry on for hours; however, when pressed about herself becomes evasive and is quick to change the topic. It takes little time to discern that the young woman is an idealist, though the principles that drive her may be less certain and she's seldom forthcoming about them. The handful that can call her friend find her a loyal and resourceful ally, in whom they can place their complete confidence. Others will find in her a pragmatist that's more than capable of thriving in virtually any environment and willing to beg, borrow, or steal her way to any end. While not prone to quick provocation, her fuse has been decidedly shortened of late though she attributes it less to general edginess than lack of sleep.
Before “Open Waters” (Background)
He must've dozed off, as a chime at the door caught Jørgen quite by surprise. Rathe was no longer lying beside him, which caused a momentary panic until his ears caught the sound of the shower running. Quickly, he threw a sheet around his waist and answered the door, leading the room service attendant quietly to begin making arrangements on the balcony overlooking Amsterdam. No sooner had the attendant been tipped and shooed off, than Rathe emerged with a towel wrapped snugly around her. "Buongiorno dormiglione." With one hand holding the towel in place, she wrapped the other around his neck and pulled him closer, the pair sharing a long kiss that might've led to more had his resolve not been steeled by the lateness of the hour. Soon, she'd be gone. Breaking away, he motioned for her to sit, pouring her a mimosa and taking the seat across from her. He waited impatiently, nerves wreaking havoc with his insides, for her to lift the silvery cover from her plate. No sooner had she done so, then she replaced it and rose from the table.
He sat there for several moments, his mind empty from the shock of having been so thoroughly rejected, until she returned fully dressed and bent down to kiss his lips gently. Her voice was soft and barely more than a whisper, "Yes, but that's your grandmother's ring. There's no way I'm gonna risk losing it." His confused mind turned over what she'd said, which his gut told him was yes ... she said yes! Didn't she? Finally, he found his voice as the door swished open to allow her into the hall, "Hey, did you just say yes?!?"
"Sì" Rathe blew him a kiss, and then she was gone.
In her imaginings, she'd wanted so much more than a night of passion punctuated with a bittersweet note, but knew nothing remained for her there. The job had been simple, like a dozen before - a specific place, a specific task, and the tools to accomplish it. They paid well and the arrangement, albeit unusual, had been so fluid as to become routine ... until now. However, fortune smiled in the form of an anonymous payment and the name, Crescenzo.
Strengths
Rathe is an exceptional artist, much of her talent being attributed to keen perception and attentiveness to detail. It's common for her to notice things that others overlook, though the most subtle of these may be captured as a general impression that's hard to articulate. Given time, however, Rathe can usually render them visually through her art. That, and her vagabond lifestyle, have developed a sort of situational savvy - she can handle herself and is confident in her ability to do so. She's fluent in Italian, English, Dutch, and German.
Weaknesses
Rathe tends to be irresponsible, at best, though reckless is more the norm when it comes to herself. To say that she spends a significant portion of her waking hours under the influence of one thing or another wouldn't be an exaggeration, especially of late. More recently, she's also begun to suffer from insomnia, which has greatly exacerbated her substance issues.
27|March 30|5'6"|115 lbs.
Appearance:
Description
Rathe is a lightly built young woman, though not frail in appearance, with dark eyes and espresso-brown hair that falls well past her shoulders in long ropes, though she invariably dyes some of the locks red, black, both, or something else entirely. Her features are soft and vaguely Italian in origin, though her multi-hued hair tends to make the connection less obvious. When she speaks, she's prone to voice her opinion without filters in the thick flourishes of an Italian accent, complete with an array of regional colloquialisms that betray her worldliness. Her choice of language fluctuates, and can do so mid-sentence, from Dutch or English to her native Italian. While she tries to catch and correct herself, others are often left to their own devices in figuring out the various pieces of her fractured sentences. Her dress is eclectic and tends to portray her moods, ranging from a more comfort-oriented base state upwards, but is always fashionable if not also a tad revealing. Any bared portions of her skin tend to be adorned with tattoos of various sorts, some with rich, vibrant colors and others of a more monochromatic tribal sort. She's fond of drink and can often be found perched atop a bar stool wreathed in a cloud of cigar smoke and smelling of booze. The latter penchants frequently gain her entry into the conversations of men, who find in her an attractive and engaging drinking buddy.
Personality
Generally speaking, her demeanor is warm and vivacious - she laughs easily and is frequently flirtatious, though seldom genuinely interested in pursuing things further. However, little provocation, either real or perceived, is required to bring out a more flippant persona that eschews authority and can be outright confrontational. In light conversation, she's downright chatty and easily able to carry on for hours; however, when pressed about herself becomes evasive and is quick to change the topic. It takes little time to discern that the young woman is an idealist, though the principles that drive her may be less certain and she's seldom forthcoming about them. The handful that can call her friend find her a loyal and resourceful ally, in whom they can place their complete confidence. Others will find in her a pragmatist that's more than capable of thriving in virtually any environment and willing to beg, borrow, or steal her way to any end. While not prone to quick provocation, her fuse has been decidedly shortened of late though she attributes it less to general edginess than lack of sleep.
Before “Open Waters” (Background)
He must've dozed off, as a chime at the door caught Jørgen quite by surprise. Rathe was no longer lying beside him, which caused a momentary panic until his ears caught the sound of the shower running. Quickly, he threw a sheet around his waist and answered the door, leading the room service attendant quietly to begin making arrangements on the balcony overlooking Amsterdam. No sooner had the attendant been tipped and shooed off, than Rathe emerged with a towel wrapped snugly around her. "Buongiorno dormiglione." With one hand holding the towel in place, she wrapped the other around his neck and pulled him closer, the pair sharing a long kiss that might've led to more had his resolve not been steeled by the lateness of the hour. Soon, she'd be gone. Breaking away, he motioned for her to sit, pouring her a mimosa and taking the seat across from her. He waited impatiently, nerves wreaking havoc with his insides, for her to lift the silvery cover from her plate. No sooner had she done so, then she replaced it and rose from the table.
He sat there for several moments, his mind empty from the shock of having been so thoroughly rejected, until she returned fully dressed and bent down to kiss his lips gently. Her voice was soft and barely more than a whisper, "Yes, but that's your grandmother's ring. There's no way I'm gonna risk losing it." His confused mind turned over what she'd said, which his gut told him was yes ... she said yes! Didn't she? Finally, he found his voice as the door swished open to allow her into the hall, "Hey, did you just say yes?!?"
"Sì" Rathe blew him a kiss, and then she was gone.
In her imaginings, she'd wanted so much more than a night of passion punctuated with a bittersweet note, but knew nothing remained for her there. The job had been simple, like a dozen before - a specific place, a specific task, and the tools to accomplish it. They paid well and the arrangement, albeit unusual, had been so fluid as to become routine ... until now. However, fortune smiled in the form of an anonymous payment and the name, Crescenzo.
Strengths
Rathe is an exceptional artist, much of her talent being attributed to keen perception and attentiveness to detail. It's common for her to notice things that others overlook, though the most subtle of these may be captured as a general impression that's hard to articulate. Given time, however, Rathe can usually render them visually through her art. That, and her vagabond lifestyle, have developed a sort of situational savvy - she can handle herself and is confident in her ability to do so. She's fluent in Italian, English, Dutch, and German.
Weaknesses
Rathe tends to be irresponsible, at best, though reckless is more the norm when it comes to herself. To say that she spends a significant portion of her waking hours under the influence of one thing or another wouldn't be an exaggeration, especially of late. More recently, she's also begun to suffer from insomnia, which has greatly exacerbated her substance issues.
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