Lemons — Roleplayer Guild

Because I'm bored, here's a character.

N A M EVictoria Alina Eskridge

A G E17

P I C T U R E

H E I G H T ,  W E I G H T5' 7", 122 lbs.

O C C U P A T I O NHigh School Student

B I OVictoria—she prefers Tori—has always been rather...rambunctious might be the word. She’s never been the type to sit inside and work on embroidery or some such activity that she would refer to as “oh god it’s so boring.” She much prefers such activities as camping, hiking, backpacking; things where she could get outside, away from a lot of other people and from the trappings of civilization. See, she’s the type of person that’s totally, lethally allergic to bullshit. Tough as nails and darkly cynical with the kind of cynicism only a young person can have, she won’t hesitate to deck you if you look at her wrong.

Tori’s early life was rough. It wasn’t as though she’d had an abusive family, or anything like that. What she’d had was an exceedingly poor family, so poor they could barely afford to put food on the table. Thus, when not in school—public school, of course—she spent most of her time trying to clothe and feed herself. She became heavily self-sufficient, and though much of the time, she’d been a bit...illegal in her methods, she managed to keep herself alive and relatively healthy throughout her adolescence. Her clothes are typically grungy, and she’s got no real compunctions over eating out of dumpsters. 

When the outbreak began, she’d been riding near the front of the bus, ready to bail at a moment’s notice if somebody was going to ask for fare. She’d smacked her head on the pole she’d been holding without really knowing what was going on. And that brings us to today.

Etoile

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I hate forests.

Such was the primary thought in Etoile's mind as she clung to the back railing of the barge with her prosthetic limb, watching the forest go by. The main reason, of course, for her current spiteful irritation was the occasional low-hanging branch that, while not thick enough to injure her, whipped her with a fair deal of force. Her face was bruised in two places and carpeted with welts, and though the arm supporting her was metal and thus rather less prone to such phenomena as exhaustion or aches, the legs that served to anchor her in place were beginning to cramp from remaining unmoving for the last several hours.

As much as she hated to admit it, her funds were very much limited. Her days with the church were still relatively fresh in her mind, and chief among those memories were those of eating extravagantly, sleeping in the finest inns, and most relevant to her current situation, traveling in comfort. Back before she had cut ties with the organization, she'd basically had money poured into her lap—usually from fear—anywhere she'd gone. Being the realist that she was, though, she had to acknowledge that now, those days were over. She only had what she stole from her family before she'd departed, and though it had been a considerable fortune at the time, living had expenses, especially in this day and age. Her money had rapidly begun to trickle away, and it wasn't long before she'd resolved to only use it when absolutely necessary.

And if that meant she had to resort to bargehopping, well, so be it. It was uncomfortable, yes. She was wind-tossed, cramped, and cold, and occasionally, she'd had to hide from the few that had ventured to the back of the craft over the past several hours, true. She'd been slapped in the face by intruding branches from Ifrise, absolutely. But it was free, if less than legal. So on the whole, she'd squared her shoulders and gone along for the ride. Her white cloak had been stowed away into the pack on her back, leaving her only in a close-fitting, long-sleeved blue shirt and black pants that did little to break the wind away. She'd have appreciated the warmth of the long garment, but reason won out as she realized that it would flap out behind her for about five feet because of the wind. Not only would it be useless to her, but it would be a blatant flag of HERE I AM COME GET ME, and that was the last thing she needed right about now.

As for why she was going to Thlecia in the first place, well, she had her reasons. Some might have been going out of a desire to escape Iquenos, to go somewhere where they foolishly thought the Ecclesiae would have lesser power. Doubtless, the vast majority were simply working on the freight barge. She didn't know, and didn't much care. Since she'd gone on the run, she'd been living her life day-to-day. Did she have food, for example. Water? Shelter? And how far could she get from the Inquisitors chasing her? That final thought was what had prompted the impromptu hitchhiking of the Eoldysseus. Since she wasn't technically traveling—as in, she'd bought no ticket, paid no fees, left no name—there wasn't a way to track her by any records. She'd simply reappear a long way away from the last place she was seen. That was the hope, at least. She'd never tried in the past, simply because she'd shrank from the idea of stowing away on a craft like this. Her refined preferences, though, like her money, had been quickly petering out in the face of persecution and possible death. And so here she was.

For a time, she'd been able to use densus ventus to create a transparent wall in front of her, blocking out much of the wind that hissed around her. Realistically, though, she'd only been able to keep the wall up for an hour at most, and after that, she'd been without shelter. Her teeth chattered, and she realized that she couldn't feel her fingers. I should've invested in gloves. That was a stupid mistake, the kind I need to make no more of.

As the wind had flown past her, she'd heard snippets of the conversations of those on deck. Few had interested her; it was largely the same gossip that had always followed the common-folk about. This noble did this, this noble did that, and did you know that so-and-so bedded this person? She'd come to pretty much entirely dismiss what she'd heard, letting it become as much of a background noise as the surprised shrieks of birds about them as the barge trundled through the otherwise-peaceful forest. Still, she was listening just enough to catch a particularly interesting bit of news as a few workers spoke:

"Hey, so what d'you think of 'im?"

"Mmf. Seems alright 'nuff, but you know well as I do he's one of them blasted churchmen. Won't do to get too close to 'im."

"Mhmm, yer right 'bout that. What's 'is name? Alrec? Aladdic? Somethin' like that, I think."

"Alaric, 'e said. Alaric Fasalus, or Fasarus, can't 'member. Wish I knew where 'e was geddin' off. Seemed real nerved too. Like to jam a stick up 'is uptight ass."

Their conversation dissolved into laughter and Etoile rolled her eyes. True, it could be considered heretical for people to talk like that about an ordained cleric. But these two were on the job, in a remote place in between The Middle Of and Nowhere on any map. What the Ecclesiae didn't know wouldn't hurt them. What they said, though...now that was interesting. And it could certainly be problematic. She'd originally intended to keep hanging on until the barge reached the end of the line, but if Alaric Fasarus—she'd heard of him once—decided to ride all the way as well, as he was probably going to, there would be quite a few more Inquisitors than she'd bargained for. Making a quick decision, she decided that she would get off at the next stop as long as he didn't. Whether or not she was in Thlecia didn't matter much in the end; she'd bee going for a while, and there would definitely be some distance and confusion. Enough to buy her a day or two, at least.

Comfortable in her resolution and resigned for at least another few hours until they reached their next destination, she sighed infinitesimally quietly, settling down to wait.

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