Me and Dino did a collab! My post stems out of it somewhere near the end. Sorry for its length, I'd put it in a spoiler but formatting doesn't want to play nice today. Hope you enjoy!
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Mixtape Ghost N
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“Thanks Kate, I'll see you soon.”
The glare of the sun made the road shimmer upon the horizon. It was shortly after noon in Brimstone, Kansas, and for the umpteenth time Abigail considered where the town got its name from. She wasn't wearing much - nobody did, at this time of day - just a tank top and some shorts. It had to be brimstone, thought Abigail, because of the heat. She thought this every summer; every winter it was the reeking sulphur that made her change her mind. Regardless of the tiny village's namesake, Abigail was one of its unfortunate captives today and she had to make the most out of it. She was headed at a leisurely pace towards the farm, clutching two plastic cups slick with condensation whilst her backpack clunked every time it hit the base of her spine. As she neared the rustling corn field a figure emerged from the heatwave, materialising into a man in full uniform stooped over the side of the road.
“You'd think a guy your age wouldn't have any problems finding pussy, but here we are,” Abigail commented snidely. She held out one of the iced coffees to the first and only deputy of Brimstone, Brooks Lockwood. “I brought sandwiches. Tuna sweet corn. Just in case, y’know...cat might smell it and come home.” With her free hand, Abigail guided the straw into her mouth and slurped noisily.
Brooks felt miserable. The heat glared down on him as he found himself stuck looking for the upteenth pet that had run away. He was sweaty, grimy from all the shrubbery and tall grass he'd be scouring through, and couldn't care less if the next thing he found was a dead, sun boiled, cat. Either everyone in the town decided to start abusing their animals, inviting them to run away, or there was some mass migration that they all collectively agreed upon. Either way the constant stream of calls of worried elderly and miserable adults complaining about their beloved pets running away -forced- the station to at least act like they cared, brooks being the unlucky singular deputy to show everyone that they did in fact at least -try-.
Waving at Abigail from the distance as she approached him, her comment caused him to stare at her with an incredibly disapproving and frustratingly disheveled, sweat patched look. He was not in the mood. With a deep, chest heaving sigh, Brooks slowly shook his head and gave the field another gaze-over, shaking his head directed at Abigail. “Are you headin’ home?”
Abigail thrust the other iced coffee into Brooks’ palm whilst she sat cross-legged on the dry grass, patting it invitingly with her other hand. She rummaged in her backpack and brought out a Tupperware box. “Not if I can help it,” responded Abigail. “It's 'fright night’ tonight...some sorta hazing ritual for the new kids. I'm going to the abandoned house in a bit to waste time until the others show up.” She started munching on a tuna sweetcorn sandwich thoughtfully. “It could be the sulphur,” she mused. “I remember it fucking reeked of sulphur last year. Maybe we got used to it but it got worse and worse, an’ now all the pets decided they'd rather starve in the wilderness than stay in a flimsy suburban house and have to put up with the stench. Sit down, your sandwich is getting warm.”
Brooks took a long, yearning slurp of the iced coffee and let out a refreshing sigh before seating himself down with a groan. “If they're gone they're gone. They'll either come back to those they actually miss or run to the nearest diners for scraps, bein’ hungry and all.” He looked at the sandwich being offered and gladly accepted it. Sitting there beside her, iced coffee in one hand and sandwich in the other he remained content. “I'll be milling about the station if you need anything, yeah?” He took a mouthful, staring forward as he spoke.
“Mmn,” grunted Abigail. For a while they munched on their sandwiches in silence. “...if I see them, though, I'll grab 'em. You look so grumpy, wandering around the heat on your own.” Another pause. “I heard that uh, dear Scotty Masterson is orchestrating it.” She frowned distastefully. Brooks knew full well what Abigail thought about that. “at least Molly is gonna be there though.”
Brooks took another mouthful, washing it down with another large slurp of his drink, all the while giving Abigail a long pregnant stare. He continued to look at her in silence, as if expecting something. “Who?” He broke the silence, keeping his deadpan stare up for a solid few seconds before cracking a smile. “Yeah, you'll have fun one way or another no doubt.”
Abigail let loose a wheezy chuckle, tucking a few sticky strands of hair behind her ear. “Alright, yeah,” Abigail stood up and dusted her legs off. “Good luck with your-...wild goose chase?” she ventured, squinting out across the corn fields. “I’ll try to be back before midnight.” She stuffed the box into her backpack and wandered down the road once more, headed towards the shade of the forest and the long abandoned house at the end of the street.
Abigail had arrived long, long before the others. She had to admit, the old creaky building gave her the chills, even in broad daylight; but that was why she arrived in the first place. She wanted to get over any residual tremors of fear before anyone else caught on to the fact she was scared. There was, in her humble opinion, only one way to do it; romp around the building, explore every nook and cranny and clamber around the rubble until she felt confident enough to call it home. What followed was the best part of an afternoon getting splinters and scraped knees, peeking through dusty cabinets, accidentally disturbing spider nests and discovering as much about the old building as she possibly could. She hopped past rotted stairs and used the rickety lead piping to reach windowsills of floors that were either inaccessible or too difficult to get to through the narrow corridors. She conquered the kitchen, braved the bathroom and ascended into the attic with ease until the sun hung low over the forest canopy and Abigail thought it best to get down onto the ground before she was stuck in the dark.
That was where they found her, sat cross-legged in the overgrown garden, idly plucking a splinter out from one of her scarred knuckles whilst her scabby knees oozed blood where the wounds split open. Scotty came first. Abigail didn’t say much. He seemed impatient to begin and Abigail carefully watched him inhale beer like a workhorse. Every so often one of his lackeys would ask Abigail what’s up, and she brushed them off with idle excuses like boredom or that blasted splinter that was becoming increasingly difficult to remove in the filtering dusk.
When Molly arrived, Abigail hopped up onto her feet and ran a hand through her hair. “Thank fuck,” she mumbled under her breath when her friend was in hearing range. She folded her arms whilst Molly lit a cigarette with one of the girls’ lighters and rolled her eyes in turn as Molly issued out an empty threat. She had better things to bitch about; giving Molly a little nudge in the ribs, Abigail gestured to the increasingly intoxicated Scotty swaying a few metres ahead of them. “The most exciting part of tonight is seeing whether this sorry fuck gets his stomach pumped,” she whispered into Molly’s ear with a cheeky grin.
Abigail didn’t...really have a job so to say. She was just along for the ride. She didn’t want to take part in the first place; peer pressure goaded her into going out but it couldn’t cross the threshold into making Abigail participate. Instead, she decided to creep around the halls and watch the children from above. She crossed the corner of the house and used some of the crumbling mortar as handholds to shimmy up to the first floor window, entering a decrepit bedroom.
The key was ambiance. Abigail didn’t need to rush, she didn’t even need to be quiet; the house would do the work for her. Her footsteps fell deliberately on warped floorboards, producing slow and lengthy creaks and groans that reverberated through the halls. There were other teens hidden in alcoves and around corners; most of them shot her flighty looks, no doubt a little on edge from her wandering. She just smiled and waved her way past them and their costumes towards the end of a hallway, where she squatted down and peered through the peeling plaster towards the children below.
The turnout was pitiful. Only two kids? It only put the whole night into perspective. It was outdated, abandoned; much like the house, Fright Night was rapidly becoming a dying trend and it made the ones running it look...desperate. Needy. In fact, Abigail was just in the middle of wondering whether or not she should go home or to the station when she realised that she could probably be seen if either of them decided to look up.
And if they did, they’d probably get a real fright by accident; after all, washout kids in monster masks were one kind of scary; a pale, bony thing crouched by a hole in the ceiling, glowering down at you with its bloody shins, its grimy clothes and scarred flesh, the sheet of lank blonde hair partially covering its hollow gaze...that wasn’t something you’d want to spot in a fake house, even if the reality was that it was just another dirty, scraped-up teen who wasn’t actually looking at you but trying to decide where to bail to.
The glare of the sun made the road shimmer upon the horizon. It was shortly after noon in Brimstone, Kansas, and for the umpteenth time Abigail considered where the town got its name from. She wasn't wearing much - nobody did, at this time of day - just a tank top and some shorts. It had to be brimstone, thought Abigail, because of the heat. She thought this every summer; every winter it was the reeking sulphur that made her change her mind. Regardless of the tiny village's namesake, Abigail was one of its unfortunate captives today and she had to make the most out of it. She was headed at a leisurely pace towards the farm, clutching two plastic cups slick with condensation whilst her backpack clunked every time it hit the base of her spine. As she neared the rustling corn field a figure emerged from the heatwave, materialising into a man in full uniform stooped over the side of the road.
“You'd think a guy your age wouldn't have any problems finding pussy, but here we are,” Abigail commented snidely. She held out one of the iced coffees to the first and only deputy of Brimstone, Brooks Lockwood. “I brought sandwiches. Tuna sweet corn. Just in case, y’know...cat might smell it and come home.” With her free hand, Abigail guided the straw into her mouth and slurped noisily.
Brooks felt miserable. The heat glared down on him as he found himself stuck looking for the upteenth pet that had run away. He was sweaty, grimy from all the shrubbery and tall grass he'd be scouring through, and couldn't care less if the next thing he found was a dead, sun boiled, cat. Either everyone in the town decided to start abusing their animals, inviting them to run away, or there was some mass migration that they all collectively agreed upon. Either way the constant stream of calls of worried elderly and miserable adults complaining about their beloved pets running away -forced- the station to at least act like they cared, brooks being the unlucky singular deputy to show everyone that they did in fact at least -try-.
Waving at Abigail from the distance as she approached him, her comment caused him to stare at her with an incredibly disapproving and frustratingly disheveled, sweat patched look. He was not in the mood. With a deep, chest heaving sigh, Brooks slowly shook his head and gave the field another gaze-over, shaking his head directed at Abigail. “Are you headin’ home?”
Abigail thrust the other iced coffee into Brooks’ palm whilst she sat cross-legged on the dry grass, patting it invitingly with her other hand. She rummaged in her backpack and brought out a Tupperware box. “Not if I can help it,” responded Abigail. “It's 'fright night’ tonight...some sorta hazing ritual for the new kids. I'm going to the abandoned house in a bit to waste time until the others show up.” She started munching on a tuna sweetcorn sandwich thoughtfully. “It could be the sulphur,” she mused. “I remember it fucking reeked of sulphur last year. Maybe we got used to it but it got worse and worse, an’ now all the pets decided they'd rather starve in the wilderness than stay in a flimsy suburban house and have to put up with the stench. Sit down, your sandwich is getting warm.”
Brooks took a long, yearning slurp of the iced coffee and let out a refreshing sigh before seating himself down with a groan. “If they're gone they're gone. They'll either come back to those they actually miss or run to the nearest diners for scraps, bein’ hungry and all.” He looked at the sandwich being offered and gladly accepted it. Sitting there beside her, iced coffee in one hand and sandwich in the other he remained content. “I'll be milling about the station if you need anything, yeah?” He took a mouthful, staring forward as he spoke.
“Mmn,” grunted Abigail. For a while they munched on their sandwiches in silence. “...if I see them, though, I'll grab 'em. You look so grumpy, wandering around the heat on your own.” Another pause. “I heard that uh, dear Scotty Masterson is orchestrating it.” She frowned distastefully. Brooks knew full well what Abigail thought about that. “at least Molly is gonna be there though.”
Brooks took another mouthful, washing it down with another large slurp of his drink, all the while giving Abigail a long pregnant stare. He continued to look at her in silence, as if expecting something. “Who?” He broke the silence, keeping his deadpan stare up for a solid few seconds before cracking a smile. “Yeah, you'll have fun one way or another no doubt.”
Abigail let loose a wheezy chuckle, tucking a few sticky strands of hair behind her ear. “Alright, yeah,” Abigail stood up and dusted her legs off. “Good luck with your-...wild goose chase?” she ventured, squinting out across the corn fields. “I’ll try to be back before midnight.” She stuffed the box into her backpack and wandered down the road once more, headed towards the shade of the forest and the long abandoned house at the end of the street.
Abigail had arrived long, long before the others. She had to admit, the old creaky building gave her the chills, even in broad daylight; but that was why she arrived in the first place. She wanted to get over any residual tremors of fear before anyone else caught on to the fact she was scared. There was, in her humble opinion, only one way to do it; romp around the building, explore every nook and cranny and clamber around the rubble until she felt confident enough to call it home. What followed was the best part of an afternoon getting splinters and scraped knees, peeking through dusty cabinets, accidentally disturbing spider nests and discovering as much about the old building as she possibly could. She hopped past rotted stairs and used the rickety lead piping to reach windowsills of floors that were either inaccessible or too difficult to get to through the narrow corridors. She conquered the kitchen, braved the bathroom and ascended into the attic with ease until the sun hung low over the forest canopy and Abigail thought it best to get down onto the ground before she was stuck in the dark.
That was where they found her, sat cross-legged in the overgrown garden, idly plucking a splinter out from one of her scarred knuckles whilst her scabby knees oozed blood where the wounds split open. Scotty came first. Abigail didn’t say much. He seemed impatient to begin and Abigail carefully watched him inhale beer like a workhorse. Every so often one of his lackeys would ask Abigail what’s up, and she brushed them off with idle excuses like boredom or that blasted splinter that was becoming increasingly difficult to remove in the filtering dusk.
When Molly arrived, Abigail hopped up onto her feet and ran a hand through her hair. “Thank fuck,” she mumbled under her breath when her friend was in hearing range. She folded her arms whilst Molly lit a cigarette with one of the girls’ lighters and rolled her eyes in turn as Molly issued out an empty threat. She had better things to bitch about; giving Molly a little nudge in the ribs, Abigail gestured to the increasingly intoxicated Scotty swaying a few metres ahead of them. “The most exciting part of tonight is seeing whether this sorry fuck gets his stomach pumped,” she whispered into Molly’s ear with a cheeky grin.
Abigail didn’t...really have a job so to say. She was just along for the ride. She didn’t want to take part in the first place; peer pressure goaded her into going out but it couldn’t cross the threshold into making Abigail participate. Instead, she decided to creep around the halls and watch the children from above. She crossed the corner of the house and used some of the crumbling mortar as handholds to shimmy up to the first floor window, entering a decrepit bedroom.
The key was ambiance. Abigail didn’t need to rush, she didn’t even need to be quiet; the house would do the work for her. Her footsteps fell deliberately on warped floorboards, producing slow and lengthy creaks and groans that reverberated through the halls. There were other teens hidden in alcoves and around corners; most of them shot her flighty looks, no doubt a little on edge from her wandering. She just smiled and waved her way past them and their costumes towards the end of a hallway, where she squatted down and peered through the peeling plaster towards the children below.
The turnout was pitiful. Only two kids? It only put the whole night into perspective. It was outdated, abandoned; much like the house, Fright Night was rapidly becoming a dying trend and it made the ones running it look...desperate. Needy. In fact, Abigail was just in the middle of wondering whether or not she should go home or to the station when she realised that she could probably be seen if either of them decided to look up.
And if they did, they’d probably get a real fright by accident; after all, washout kids in monster masks were one kind of scary; a pale, bony thing crouched by a hole in the ceiling, glowering down at you with its bloody shins, its grimy clothes and scarred flesh, the sheet of lank blonde hair partially covering its hollow gaze...that wasn’t something you’d want to spot in a fake house, even if the reality was that it was just another dirty, scraped-up teen who wasn’t actually looking at you but trying to decide where to bail to.
What's the date/time in this setting? the intcheck implied summer holidays, but fright-night makes me think it's Halloween.
"You're gonna help me? Great!" Abigail's enthusiasm made her anxiety melt away, but again - there was something really weird about the way she carried herself. Her body language was open, friendly and completely oblivious but some sort of instinct made her seem like she was on edge all of the time. "It's just down on the east side, I can show you the way." She made to leave, but Anastasia called for her. It seemed impossible for Abigail to perk up any more; she was practically glowing with excitement now. She got so fidgety that she seemed to almost vibrate. "You're hunters?!" she gasped breathlessly. "I thought you were pirates! No offence, but I didn't think hunting was such a big thing these days. Kind of outdated profession. I still took it, because my mentor said I have 'potential'. Not sure what he meant about that, but I trust him."
She turned her attention to Anastasia and seemed completely unfazed by her sniffing and squishing her cheeks. "So you probably know where my mentor went? Hish name ish Braa-h ma aaah ah-" she paused, only briefly, in her stream of excited ramblings when Anastasia hooked a bloody finger under her lip and pulled back her mouth. Only then did she look slightly perplexed. "That's silver, right? You think I'm a changeling or something, don't you? Happens all the time - I'm not a monster, I'm just used to it. 'It' being...y'know, all this." She gestured vaguely at the decapitated corpse, the bloodsoaked bandits, the carnage in the water. "I'm a farmgirl. Can't get far without seeing a couple corpses - everyone wants bacon and chicken drumsticks these days." Nevertheless, it wasn't as if this was a simple slaughterhouse. There were dead people floating in the water - people with lives. Abigail seemed unfettered by that particular concern...and it was no wonder that Anastasia would be checking her teeth because of it. Unfortunately, they were completely normal.
The girl lead the hunting party to the cave ("It's in there. Mind you don't cut yourselves, you'll get sickness!") and when the party eventually climbed out, she had vanished. She re-appeared by the beach with her big backpack and an even bigger smile. Then she slipped quietly onto one of the boats and started to write in her journal:
Th ey WERE hunters! I hope that they can find you with me, they k I llled the fishbeast from earlier so I ThinK the y are good enough to be able to track you down. I am very very hungry but I am too Scared to ask for food. Coman Commander GRUX has rescued us from the island. I hope that I can talk to someone ab out sticking with their party, a t least until I fINd you.
Back soon,
Abi
Once they reached the mainland, Abigail put her diary away and looked over at the captain. He immediately stomped off after mentioning some sort of seedy establishment to meet up with in a few hours, and left the little blonde runt looking a bit lost and confused, standing in the midst of a rapidly thinning crowd of mercenaries and hunters alike. She played with her backpack strap, she opened and shut her mouth a few times and then she clutched onto her diary tightly and looked around once more.
It didn't look like she had a place to go to until their next meeting.
She turned her attention to Anastasia and seemed completely unfazed by her sniffing and squishing her cheeks. "So you probably know where my mentor went? Hish name ish Braa-h ma aaah ah-" she paused, only briefly, in her stream of excited ramblings when Anastasia hooked a bloody finger under her lip and pulled back her mouth. Only then did she look slightly perplexed. "That's silver, right? You think I'm a changeling or something, don't you? Happens all the time - I'm not a monster, I'm just used to it. 'It' being...y'know, all this." She gestured vaguely at the decapitated corpse, the bloodsoaked bandits, the carnage in the water. "I'm a farmgirl. Can't get far without seeing a couple corpses - everyone wants bacon and chicken drumsticks these days." Nevertheless, it wasn't as if this was a simple slaughterhouse. There were dead people floating in the water - people with lives. Abigail seemed unfettered by that particular concern...and it was no wonder that Anastasia would be checking her teeth because of it. Unfortunately, they were completely normal.
The girl lead the hunting party to the cave ("It's in there. Mind you don't cut yourselves, you'll get sickness!") and when the party eventually climbed out, she had vanished. She re-appeared by the beach with her big backpack and an even bigger smile. Then she slipped quietly onto one of the boats and started to write in her journal:
Th ey WERE hunters! I hope that they can find you with me, they k I llled the fishbeast from earlier so I ThinK the y are good enough to be able to track you down. I am very very hungry but I am too Scared to ask for food. Coman Commander GRUX has rescued us from the island. I hope that I can talk to someone ab out sticking with their party, a t least until I fINd you.
Back soon,
Abi
Once they reached the mainland, Abigail put her diary away and looked over at the captain. He immediately stomped off after mentioning some sort of seedy establishment to meet up with in a few hours, and left the little blonde runt looking a bit lost and confused, standing in the midst of a rapidly thinning crowd of mercenaries and hunters alike. She played with her backpack strap, she opened and shut her mouth a few times and then she clutched onto her diary tightly and looked around once more.
It didn't look like she had a place to go to until their next meeting.
"Did you say nest?"
Abigail dropped from a tree, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. She grinned a little. She looked fairly sheepish, standing in front of the myriad of blood-soaked, battleworn hunters in her little tunic, trousers and knitted socks. Were it not for the fact they had recently felled a great seamonster, the arrival of some waif of a girl would have come as a bit of a shock for a few. " 'Cause, uh, I've been stuck here all day and I know where it lives. And I can show you, too, provided you get me back to the main-..." she paused, staring over at the wreckage of the ship and the bloodied corpses bobbing in the ocean. "...Ah. Uhm. Okay. I can work with this. Now we're all in the same boat - figuratively, of course. I'm Abigail! Hunter's apprentice." She made as if she was going to put a hand out to shake, took one look at Drystan's gore-soaked gauntlet and rather tentatively pulled back again. The smile that was plastered on her face was one that barely concealed the abject horror that this runt must be feeling, standing in front of a horde of warriors and having the balls to negotiate with them.
And yet...there was something about her; something that seemed odd. She was staring at these hunters hopefully, even taking the moment to look them all in the face, trying to peer through the visors and the helmets of each and every bandit, brigand and professional stood before her as she spoke (and it was evident that she was putting a considerable amount of effort in keeping her voice calm and even): "Yeah, of course. I take you to the nest, and you clear out all the stuff inside, right? And in return you don't kill me? I mean, I don't see any reason why you should - I didn't do nothing to you guys 'cept for watch you all fight - but uhm, you know, you're not the most...welcoming bunch of rescuers I've met." She went for a jovial laugh and a nervous titter escaped from her lips instead. "So, have we-...got a deal?"
Abigail dropped from a tree, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly. She grinned a little. She looked fairly sheepish, standing in front of the myriad of blood-soaked, battleworn hunters in her little tunic, trousers and knitted socks. Were it not for the fact they had recently felled a great seamonster, the arrival of some waif of a girl would have come as a bit of a shock for a few. " 'Cause, uh, I've been stuck here all day and I know where it lives. And I can show you, too, provided you get me back to the main-..." she paused, staring over at the wreckage of the ship and the bloodied corpses bobbing in the ocean. "...Ah. Uhm. Okay. I can work with this. Now we're all in the same boat - figuratively, of course. I'm Abigail! Hunter's apprentice." She made as if she was going to put a hand out to shake, took one look at Drystan's gore-soaked gauntlet and rather tentatively pulled back again. The smile that was plastered on her face was one that barely concealed the abject horror that this runt must be feeling, standing in front of a horde of warriors and having the balls to negotiate with them.
And yet...there was something about her; something that seemed odd. She was staring at these hunters hopefully, even taking the moment to look them all in the face, trying to peer through the visors and the helmets of each and every bandit, brigand and professional stood before her as she spoke (and it was evident that she was putting a considerable amount of effort in keeping her voice calm and even): "Yeah, of course. I take you to the nest, and you clear out all the stuff inside, right? And in return you don't kill me? I mean, I don't see any reason why you should - I didn't do nothing to you guys 'cept for watch you all fight - but uhm, you know, you're not the most...welcoming bunch of rescuers I've met." She went for a jovial laugh and a nervous titter escaped from her lips instead. "So, have we-...got a deal?"
It does throw a wrench in the works, but we'll figure it out on our own first. Don't worry!
@Stitches
Sheet looks great. Go on ahead and shoot me a PM if you want the sheriff to have had any on or off the record run ins with her.
Eh...actually, my friend's character is going to be the sheriff - if the space is open. Is that going to be a problem? His CS is almost finished.
Abigail Harlow
"Every now and again you run into a brick fucking wall."
| {Full Name} |
Abigail Harlow
| {Nickname} |
Abi
| {Age} |
18ish? She lost count.
| {Gender} |
Female
| {Sexuality} |
Bisexual
| {Appearance} |
Standing tall at five-foot nothing with a shit-eating grin, a mane of messy blonde hair and inquisitive periwinkle eyes is Abigail Harlow. She is scattered with little scars, nicks, scrapes and bruises that seem to shift about on a daily basis. Spends most of her time outdoors but suntans seem to fade away the moment she steps inside - not even a freckle she could boast about, making her look a bit like a shut-in when it couldn’t be further from the truth. Her physique is best described as ‘gangly’ - packs of muscle here and there but skinny as a twig regardless of whatever she eats. No piercings, no tattoos; she knows she’ll mess them up eventually. A few of her toes are bent at a funny angle after she broke them and didn’t get them set properly.
| {Clothing Style} |
Thrift-store fashionable. Everything is second hand, torn up, patched up and washed out. It might not be necessarily due to the fact that money’s tight but more because she’s always ruining her outfits that she never really bothers to buy anything that could vaguely be considered ‘high quality’. All her money goes into a good pair of trainers - she owns several, each at various stages of use.
| {Likes} |
Running around.
Climbing things (it makes her feel tall).
Wry, sarcastic humour.
Trying to do new, exciting and probably dangerous things.
Plasters, but particularly the colourful ones.
Climbing things (it makes her feel tall).
Wry, sarcastic humour.
Trying to do new, exciting and probably dangerous things.
Plasters, but particularly the colourful ones.
| {Dislikes} |
The A&E, or Brimstone’s equivalent - she is well acquainted with the staff in there. A bit of a regular. She hates every minute of it.
Being bored, staying still, or anything to do with idleness.
Assholes that aren’t charismatic.
Alcohol and drugs.
The cold.
Being bored, staying still, or anything to do with idleness.
Assholes that aren’t charismatic.
Alcohol and drugs.
The cold.
| {Fears} |
Drowning.
Being alone/abandoned.
Being alone/abandoned.
| {Personality} |
Abigail bears the tell-tale signs of a woman forced to mature too quickly. She fluctuates between being self-sufficient and sensible to acting like any other cheeky teenage girl would. Her sharp tongue and witty comments are more than enough to get her in trouble. Often restless and always fidgety, Abigail has a boundless amount of energy that spills into her everyday life and fuels her moments of irrationality, those famous “fuck-it-let’s-give-this-a-shot” ideas that every young adult has been guilty of before.
She enjoys debates and isn’t afraid to speak her mind, even if they devolve into shouting matches and sulking. Her sharp mind means that even if she couldn’t exactly avoid trouble, she was well equipped for getting herself out of whatever screw-up she inevitably lands herself in. Even if she acts like a smart-ass from time to time, no-one is more aware of their own frailty than Abigail. Almost everything she does is humbled by the constant reminder that she is younger, weaker and less experienced than most of the people around her. Yes, she is passionate and stubborn and will fight for her voice to be heard but there are some situations where Abigail can clearly see she is physically weaker than most.
You'd think that someone as sociable and friendly as Abigail would be a model student, but it's far from the truth. The best way to describe it is that she's inadvertently bad; she tries so, so hard to be the loveable rascal of the town and most of the time she pulls it off, but there's just this indiscernible something that's been ingrained into her psyche and she constantly fights it. It's the reason she won't touch drugs, the reason why she becomes so ruthless when she's drunk. It's why her temper is so short and it's why she'll cross the line every so often with her insults. It makes her big smile seem fake sometimes and it gives her the unnerving, almost predatory gaze of a hardened criminal even though she claims she's never done anything worse than shoplifting.
With this hindrance, it's no wonder that Abigail shies away from trusting others and keeps closer to her uncle instead. It's why everyone is just friends with Abigail and nothing more. It's almost ironic; most kids her age are busy trying to rebel against the system and live a free, uninhibited life; Abigail's doing her damnedest to be a good neighbor. She just doesn't have the part in her brain that should mention when something's a bad idea before it becomes a retrospective thought.
She enjoys debates and isn’t afraid to speak her mind, even if they devolve into shouting matches and sulking. Her sharp mind means that even if she couldn’t exactly avoid trouble, she was well equipped for getting herself out of whatever screw-up she inevitably lands herself in. Even if she acts like a smart-ass from time to time, no-one is more aware of their own frailty than Abigail. Almost everything she does is humbled by the constant reminder that she is younger, weaker and less experienced than most of the people around her. Yes, she is passionate and stubborn and will fight for her voice to be heard but there are some situations where Abigail can clearly see she is physically weaker than most.
You'd think that someone as sociable and friendly as Abigail would be a model student, but it's far from the truth. The best way to describe it is that she's inadvertently bad; she tries so, so hard to be the loveable rascal of the town and most of the time she pulls it off, but there's just this indiscernible something that's been ingrained into her psyche and she constantly fights it. It's the reason she won't touch drugs, the reason why she becomes so ruthless when she's drunk. It's why her temper is so short and it's why she'll cross the line every so often with her insults. It makes her big smile seem fake sometimes and it gives her the unnerving, almost predatory gaze of a hardened criminal even though she claims she's never done anything worse than shoplifting.
With this hindrance, it's no wonder that Abigail shies away from trusting others and keeps closer to her uncle instead. It's why everyone is just friends with Abigail and nothing more. It's almost ironic; most kids her age are busy trying to rebel against the system and live a free, uninhibited life; Abigail's doing her damnedest to be a good neighbor. She just doesn't have the part in her brain that should mention when something's a bad idea before it becomes a retrospective thought.
| {History} |
Abigail’s time before Brimstone is kept reasonably vague for privacy purposes, but from what the rumour mill has managed to scrounge up she left the city in a hurry. She showed up with Brooks Lockwood from ‘the big city’ when she was around 16 years old and very clearly kept whatever happened between her and Brooks. It took her a while to settle in but when she did, she immediately made friends and surrounded herself with people. She knew everyone, and everyone knew her; but when it came down to it, nobody was really her confidante, her best friend above all else.
School was a difficult transitioning period - she was the asshole that always called our inappropriate things in class but also sucked up to the teachers. Even then, she hardly got a good grade because she couldn’t stand taking the time to actually study. She went out a lot instead and her recklessness was the cause of many an accident as she grew up. The only ‘odd’ part of her school life were the occasional ‘long weekends’ that she and Brooks would take for vacation, always coming back in a solemn and (in Abigail’s case) openly hostile mood.
As her antics started to burn a hole in her allowance, Abigail took scattered night shifts at the Drunken Skunk as a waitress. When she isn’t at work, cramming homework or snatching some sleep she’ll wander around town and help out the locals, or get herself into trouble with friends. Whichever happened first.
School was a difficult transitioning period - she was the asshole that always called our inappropriate things in class but also sucked up to the teachers. Even then, she hardly got a good grade because she couldn’t stand taking the time to actually study. She went out a lot instead and her recklessness was the cause of many an accident as she grew up. The only ‘odd’ part of her school life were the occasional ‘long weekends’ that she and Brooks would take for vacation, always coming back in a solemn and (in Abigail’s case) openly hostile mood.
As her antics started to burn a hole in her allowance, Abigail took scattered night shifts at the Drunken Skunk as a waitress. When she isn’t at work, cramming homework or snatching some sleep she’ll wander around town and help out the locals, or get herself into trouble with friends. Whichever happened first.
| {Other} |
Abigail doesn’t know how to swim.
Abigail doesn’t drink, smoke, or take drugs. When subjected to intense peer pressure, she explained that it’s better for everyone if she kept it that way.
Abigail doesn’t drink, smoke, or take drugs. When subjected to intense peer pressure, she explained that it’s better for everyone if she kept it that way.
True to her nature, Abigail will pop up AFTER it's dead!
My word, I looked away for two seconds and we're already on our way. Me and my buddy have almost finished our character sheets - @MissCapnCrunch @BubblegumQueen Molly and Lilith seem like Abigail's (my character) sort of people; do you mind if I already make them sort-of friends? I'm not asking for anything too close - Abi only moved in a couple years ago and she doesn't really talk about herself, so we're not going to have any sort of significant, character-developing scenes that we have to write into our backstories. However, I do think she's been haunting their houses and going to every party in town for those two years, as well as getting into varying degrees of trouble - especially with Molly. What do you say?
Oh, and since it's the 80s, I'd like to know a bit about their families too - at least, Molly's mum and grandma. There's no way Abigail would enter a home without treating the other occupants with the best of manners!
Oh, and since it's the 80s, I'd like to know a bit about their families too - at least, Molly's mum and grandma. There's no way Abigail would enter a home without treating the other occupants with the best of manners!
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