“...and with the state of affairs being as it is, the Emperor has decided that it would be beneficial for some hands-on experience. You won’t be alone in this journey, we have one of our finest Templars on the case. Templar Jasek has spent a substantial amount of time fighting the Scorned. What we need you to do is to aid the newcomers with other affairs - your experience in long distance travelling, combat and other unpredictable situations produced by monsters will be invaluable in this quest.”
The silence in the waiting room hung thick and heavy, like a miasma of tension, as Thomas the Royal Guard finished explaining the situation to the older woman sprawled out across one of the velvety chaise-longues. For all intents and purposes, this peasant had no reason to be carrying herself so confidently in a house of royalty. But then again, her reputation eclipsed her unassuming appearance. Thomas had drew the short straw and was obligated to tell their latest arrival what the real purpose for her visit would be. Once he had finished talking, she sat upright, becoming taut and pulling the atmosphere of the room inwards with her movement.
“So what you’re saying,” she responded slowly, “is that you brought me all the way out here not so I could take a look at these sorry fools and give them my blessing? That I’m to-...go with them? Back to the mountain?”
“Yes, madam. That is what the Emperor has decided.”
The peasant nodded a couple of times, looking away. She tapped on her chin. “And he decided not to include this part in his letter because…?” she asked, with the slow deliberate tone of a teacher scolding some sort of unruly child. The guard leant back a little with revulsion - after all, this guest had no right to speak to him like that - but then again, she was personally invited by the Emperor himself...even if she did look like a haggard old beggar.
“A-although I am not privy to the Emperor’s thoughts, I would assume it was because he wanted you to come here personally.” Thomas cursed himself for stammering. His guest’s eyes snapped up at the flinch and she was watching him carefully.
“I mean,” she chuckled,” is this-...some kind of joke? Are you kidding me?” a bony hand ran through the coarse mat of hair as she looked around at the other guards - though there weren’t many - for confirmation. “I travelled for fuckin’ weeks to get out here just to be told that, surprise, I’m meant to go with the cannon fodder straight into the heart of all the fuckupery in the realm? After what happened last time?”
Well, enough was enough; there was only a certain amount of disrespect that could be tolerated within the palace and this woman’s nerve was starting to irritate him. “Madam, if you don’t calm down, I’ll be forced to-”
“Forced to what, huh?” she got up out of her seat. “What the hell are you going to do? You’ve just asked me to skip off into hell for a suicide mission! Do you know who I am? You son of a bitch, I’ll fucking-”
Some sort of argument has been persisting just outside of the throne room for a long time now, but it was only recently that the volume took a sharp increase - then silence for a few moments. The doors swung open. There were two guards to introduce the newest and latest arrival. They were apprehensive and stood close to her, fists clenched in frustration. “Your majesty,” called out the guard on the left. “Sue has arrived.” Compared to the rest of the arrivals, Sue was nondescript to the point of nigh-invisibility.She was wearing a beige-grey robe with a linen apron and sturdy leather boots. Her face was grimy with work and her hair was a dark blonde. She looked almost stereotypically like a peasant and were it not for the thunderous expression and her long, furious strides she could have easily blended into a crowd. Once she got even remotely close to the Emperor himself, several guards stood in her path. There was no need, however; once she got close enough to see the Emperor her expression changed. Her brows furrowed.
“Darsun…” Sue sighed, peering at him warily. “I heard about your son, but is this really the right way to go about this?” She raised an arm and gestured vaguely towards the line of misfits behind her. “You’re expecting a bunch of strangers to do the impossible and win where an army and a prince failed? I owe you more than enough to justify going with them, but I want you to see reason before you lose another handful of heroes to this-...thing.”
“Please, Darsun,” Sue folded her arms. “Explain to me why you think this is even a remotely good idea, and I’ll follow your lead one last time.”
3. We will most likely have two more people joining us. I already accepted one character in a PM but they are waiting for their friend to post an app here as well. After that, I will be closing the RP from more people, and will only open it up again if we loos some people. Also remember, you may make a second character if you are up to it, but it is optional.
I was originally waiting for my friend in case he wanted to link his character to mine, but he just couldn't get the character concept to work out for him. Whilst he rewrites his sheet, here's mine:
Age:56 Gender: Female Race: Human Motive Called in against her will, Sue is obligated to help the Emperor this one last time.
Personality
Sue is a self-made deplorable excuse for a human being. She has the social skills of a particularly sharp rock. Gruff and curt, she has very little to say about her company that tends to be positive and is all too quick to question, defy and argue with others. She does not like being told what to do. She does not work well with other people. She drinks herself into a state of tipsiness on the daily, smells bad, looks worse than she should and has absolutely no inclination to make any friends on this journey.
But as you come to observe this haggard woman for an extended period of time, this tough shell of poor manners and hard spirits seems to have its vulnerabilities. She often looks distant or morose, almost pensive in her expressions and muttering under her breath. She seems to curl in on herself when she is isolated from the rest of the party, looking fairly lost and upset over something as she regards the rest of the team apprehensively. Although she rarely has anything nice to say about her company, she always seems to come back and hover in the periphery of the group dynamic, attempting to add her mustard into the conversation without allowing people to become too comfortable around her.
Backstory
Their names used to echo across the verdant fields and gloomy forests of the country. Lily, Arthur, Torakk, Elynn, and Lady Dia.
The Hounds of Eon; a rag-tag group of adventurers, banded together under a common goal and given the Emperor’s blessing to rid the world of evil as they saw fit. Their reputation flowed through the rural trade routes and reverberated drunkenly through the taverns; it was whispered in titillation by the socialites in the cities, and mournfully wailed out in the slums.
These adventurers were heroes in their purest form, for they gained enough wealth from their adventures into long-forgotten ruins and the dens of many monsters that they often shared their bounties with the townsfolk to rebuild their lives using the local craftsmen. They never sat still, for evil never rests; they let their actions speak for themselves and spent most of their time on the road singing, dancing, or performing parlour tricks. They inspired children and comforted the bereaved.
Though their deeds did not spread across the entire continent, there's hardly a village near the capital that hasn't heard of the Hounds - even if it is just in passing.
Nowadays, however, the mere mention of the Hounds is enough to bring some to tears, and others into stony-faced denial - for ten years ago, the Hounds of Eon mysteriously vanished. Nobody has heard of them since. This tale has little to do with the Hounds, and everything to do with their downfall; it is the story of Lady Susanne Diamenthia, the sole surviving member of the Hounds of Eon.
Lady Diamenthia’s story is built on a lie. She is in no way a part of nobility, nor is her surname Diamenthia. In reality she was naught but a farrier’s daughter who inexplicably showed signs of magic from an early age, whereupon she was whisked away into the academy to undergo their rigorous training programme. She spent a fair portion of her life within those ivory halls, studying into the early hours of the morning and practicing until her nose bled from the exertion. Ever the perfectionist, her drive for constant self improvement gave her that well-needed edge in order to rise above her peers. The other benefit of joining the academy as a nobody was that she could completely re-write her life, taking on a new name of Miss Diamenthia in order to rub shoulders with the richer castes of magicians.
After around ten years of study, Miss Diamenthia decided to leave the academy before her skills surpassed that unknown threshold that brought a mage into the Templar Order of Arcanum. A socially awkward youth with a spell tome in hand was no easy mix with society and she found herself being belittled, teased and often reprimanded as she attempted to find work. At the time, she was still a bookish young girl, a fresh graduate from the academy with only a handful of coins to her name. Susanne was better received in the smaller towns, where her spells could be used for minor repairs and simple odd-jobs. She yearned for a change but was too afraid to initiate it.
It was around this time, during her early twenties, that Susanne met Arthur and Torakk en route to one of the villages near Cidanol. Though to call it a meeting would be a gross understatement, rather she felt Arthur’s body collide with the small of her back and send her sprawling onto her belly as they attempted to fend of a group of frenzied goblins. Impressed by the quick work Susanne made of them, Arthur offered her a position in their up-and-coming mercenary team. She tentatively accepted the offer.
Soon it became apparent that Arthur was by no means a mercenary (though Torakk could certainly pass off as one if he was not being held back by his close friend). He was, however, very selective on who was allowed to join this precious squad of fighters. It took them several years to find Lily, and the elusive ranger Elynn took a fair bit of persuading to convince to join them. Half of their time was spent repairing the damages to the villages that the monsters had caused, whilst the other half was fighting the beasts themselves. Susanne excelled in this combat-orientated lifestyle as it was what she was accustomed to from the academy, who often attempt to pressure their graduates into military service. What she was not expecting was the sudden rush of fame that came with their noble actions.
With it, Susanne could not help but weave her own story to match her reputation. She called herself a long lost noble, and though she initially pretended to be a disciple of Alidia, the goddess’ teachings started to rub off on her as she matured into a very skilled and incredibly deadly mage. Susanne thought herself the voice of reason within the group, who she found to be a little too idealistic in their plans. It had initially blossomed out of a growing concern for her friends’ safety. As time went on, these interventions began to become more and more self-centred; she wanted more fame and more glory for herself, as well as the wealth to continue upholding her lavish lies. She and Arthur often butted heads in conversations, only for Susanne to be placated by the level-headed Elynn. Lily, of course, actively attempted to spark the feud’s smouldering embers whenever she could manage. Torakk’s gentler soul always shone through when he stopped Arthur from doing things that he may come to regret.
As their fame and reputation grew, even the Empire itself started to take notice. They were sent personal missions from the Emperor and his family - top secret tasks that, whilst pressing, he did not wish to waste his templars on. Susanne finally got her chance to become a bit of a socialite herself, creating a network of nobility that she often conversed with. From time to time, she was even able to address the Emperor directly. Her greed began to level out at this point, where she was contented with how far she had gotten in life and worked hard to maintain her position instead of grabbing at the final dregs of power.
This is how it was for many years. Though they only officially took on the most formidable of tasks, they would stop at every village along the way - if time would accommodate for it - to help the locals. There was notably less camaraderie amongst the Hounds of Eon during those days as it was eclipsed by a grim determination to uphold their reputation. There were many people who depended on them now; people who were abandoned by the Empire’s forces and left at the mercy of all sorts of horrors. It was their job to keep those people safe. Years of constant battle chipped at their spirits. At long last, they began to become wary in their plans. Susanne was merely thinking ahead of her time - one by one, her friends joined her train of thought.
The Hounds accepted an odd request to travel westward, given to them by an unknown sender. As they had not approached the lands of the Fae in many months and Lily was becoming frail from her use of magic, they decided to take the route cautiously and help those along the way. Once they approached the Ebony Mountain, the Hounds were ambushed at its base. Susanne watched as her friends were picked off one by one. In those distraught and terrifying instants, she asked herself what was more important - her new family, or her own life.
She chose the latter.
As she limped piteously towards the western gate, Susanne felt the weight of her riches dragging at her heels. Her silk robes felt as scratchy and as distasteful as burlap; her makeup was cloying and thick on her features, mingling with the blood to make greasy red smudges across a face that was once renowned for its beauty. She felt her mind, so sharp and vivid, begin to turn on her. She tore off her garments, discarded her items in the ferns and leaves, sobbed and wailed in the cold until a trio of dumbstruck guards took her in and immediately notified the Emperor of what they had seen.
In the palace, Susanne made one final request - a deal with the Emperor himself, in person. She offered him everything - her fake title, her knowledge, all of her money and where it was kept, all of the favours she had once gathered from some very prominent figures in the estates of Dramon - all in return for her secrecy. She wished to be kept hidden from the world, made into a nobody once more. She was granted her wish - Susanne spent the past eight years near Southgate in a tiny fishing hamlet, living a largely self-sufficient life. Her biggest fear was not discovery, but her own mind - the self-same organ that brought her from humble beginnings into magical greatness - that had begun to collapse in on itself like a dying star, overladen with such vivid emotions and thoughts and patterns that it overlapped with the currents of arcane energy that coursed through her veins and swept through her body, through her senses like a white-water rapid. Were she still Lady Dia, she would have asked the finest alchemists to concoct a potion to cure her ailing mental state. She did not have the means anymore. She found that alcohol was a sufficient substitute, as it dulled her thoughts to a manageable degree.
Two weeks ago, Sue was betrayed. She had given the Emperor her knowledge, and he wanted to use it - he hired her as an advisor for a single mission. Trusting him, she made the trip to the palace - then regretted every moment afterwards.
Magical abilities:
- Transmutation of organic material into inorganic material and vise versa with a great deal of precision - Conjuration, from small inanimate objects to mid-sized mobile constructs, and with the right time and energy, living people from one place to her own position (though the latter would require reagents and a summoning circle) - Evocation, from the smallest of arcane missiles to decently sized fissures of arcane energy that attack multiple targets
Combat abilities:
Sword Mastery; she understands the technique but her age has made melee combat difficult.
”Artifact” of Dramoria:
Lady Diamenthia’s Greatstaff - Made out of an unknown material and conjured up from arcane magic itself, this staff was once used by Lady Diamenthia to spread her spells across a wider range. It is rumoured to have several other secrets locked away within it. The material has the appearance of a blue-grey metal but it is fluid, shifting and shattering and reconstructing itself depending on the weilder's mood. It possesses, to some extent, some sort of independent thought within and appears to be choosing to withhold its true power.
Current Deployment: Venus Current Time: 15:42, Earth Standard Time, 2207.
“Finn, what're you-ooooh.” Abigail had never been in the security room as of yet, and the myriad of screens, projectors and buttons in such a cramped space had immediately distracted her from her original intentions. Snapping out of it, she continued “what're you downloading into the ship's system? I don't mind people uploading stuff into their own personal terminals but you've let yourself into all the security cameras and sensors - not to mention there's a huge file that's been put in the system. I'm not deliberately being nosy, it's just part of the job to make sure we don't get a virus or get hacked…”
Slightly startled by Abigail’s sudden appearance Finn blinked and severed his connection to the outer cameras, “Oh sorry bout that Abi, I should've said before. I only connected m’self to the outer cameras so I could ‘see’ what was going on outside the ship.” He said punctuating his words by tapping his right eyelid twice causing his eye to temporarily reveal the camera that existed instead of an actual eye. “As for your mystery file” he grabbed the hologram from behind him and gestured for Abigail to sit next to him and take a look.
“Oh right, of course, you’re the navigator,” Abigail responded, tapping her forehead with the base of her palm. “Yeah, I only ever get half the story when I look at things through the system - without, y’know, actively prying into other people’s business. I wonder if Mdazi’s capable of repairing cybernetics, then - God knows I can’t do it. Too small, y’know?” She peered at Finn’s robotic eye with a look of intrigue but, upon realising that she was staring, she quickly and politely averted her gaze. When Finn pulled out the hologram Abigail murmured an awestruck “Je-sus Christ...”, peering at the star-map with childlike wonderment. She sat down and squinted at it. “Where are we, then, in all of this?”
Finn smiled as he saw Abigail’s face, it was the same one which always lit up people's faces when they saw a star-map for the first time. Using his fingers to zoom the map in he pointed at a small star at the edge of the projection “We are here” he said, the area he had just pointed out changing to a yellow colour in order to stand out. “Though some people have tried to spread out beyond our star the majority of us are all on this little spec.” Finn zoomed the map in further so that it now only included sol and a handful of nearby systems, this revealed Finn's extensive notes on the area with little lines and bubbles of various colours, representing territory and trade routes, materialising alongside Finn's messy handwriting making the map look almost kaleidoscopic.
“My god, we're so tiny against all this…” Abigail's eyes flickered excitedly over the map. “This is my first time in space, you know. Well. Not first time ever, I sat in the hull of a shipment freight as we moved house, but this is my first proper time on a spaceship.” Abigail’s expression turned pensive, her voice went quiet. “It's actually pretty scary. I've been practicing for decades now, my work’s significantly better than people my age - and that's not even me bragging, there's statistics and everything behind it - but you muck up just once and half the ship gets sucked out into space.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “That said, the chances of it actually happening are minimal - engineers make ships to be idiot-proof from top to bottom.”
“Ha-ha, I guess we're opposites then. I've only properly been on a planet twice and I still don't know a thing about engineering. Anyhow I'm sure you'll do a fine job; I've been in ships which try to tear themselves to pieces with engineers which don't know a nut from a bolt, so with a nice ship like this and an engineer like you we’ll be doing more than fine.” Finn smiled warmly and clapped Abigail on the shoulder, then seeing the ship rapidly approaching its destination on the console beside him decided to wrap up. “You should take a proper look at the stars if you haven't already, I grew up in them and I still don't get tired of the view… Actually remind me to show you my helmet when we take off again.” That said he slowly got up and started shutting off the console he was using.
“You’ve got your own suit? Damn,” Abigail looked impressed. She also noticed how swiftly the ship was approaching their destination and stood up. “I’m hoping once I get a breather tonight, I’ll call my mum and take a look at the stars properly. Until then, there’s work to be done. Thanks for clearing things up, Finn - I’ll see you around.” Abigail stood up and, with the increasingly-familiar restlessness that seems to follow Abigail’s every movement, she skipped out of the room and down the corridor.
“Captain,” Abigail snapped tersely as the doors split open to the briefing room. “Did you mean for the pilot to take off so suddenly? Half of us were nowhere near anything stable.” Her voice lacked all of the cheeriness that it had previously possessed. In her left hand was a bloodsoaked handkerchief, trails of red seeping down her fingertips as her grip whitened her knuckles and shook her hand at the wrist. She had meant to storm up to the cockpit itself but the sight of Victor cowed her into place. Her cheeks were flushed red with embarrassment whilst her mind replayed the last two minutes over and over, and all of this shame and anger was being directed into a frosty glare at the door on the far end of the room. Rather notably, it meant that she could not - would not - meet Victor’s gaze.
Victor looked at the sight of the beyond frustrated Abigail, seemingly not expecting a complaint. “Yes, as I said over the comms we are behind schedule and I’d like to take off before wasting anymore time.” he paused, hoping her question was literal, before deciding to add: “If you have any complaints we can discuss them the next time we’re winding down, not now.”
“None with you,” Abigail sighed again, peering down at her cloth before idly stuffing it into her pocket. “I just think it’s pretty counter-productive of her to take off so suddenly, when we’ve got two old men and a chronically ill person on board. Whilst it’s always fun to feel my throat pop like a water balloon, I’d be mighty worried if our glorious leader broke a hip,” Abigail shot the captain a mischievous grin. Her mood had lifted and she was in good spirits once more - and she let Victor know by taking a jab at him.
Victor smiled, but otherwise ignored her teasing comment. “Don’t forget to discuss your condition with the doctor, will you?”
“Doesn’t she already have my file?” Abigail responded, easing down into one of the chairs as she pulled out the earpiece she was working on earlier and plugged it into one of the consoles.
“She might, she might not, I wasn’t in charge with supplying the rest of the crew with information. If she has she did it on her own dime and time.” he confirmed, remaining stood at the head of the briefing table.
“Alright...but after we get the first clue. Once things have ‘wound down’.” Abigail wasn’t too bothered with where Victor was standing, as she was too busy fiddling with the screen on the console now. “Looks scary but it’s not that urgent. Besides, it comes with a whole variety of benefits, like...uhm. Like being able to take a nap by saying you need a transfusion. Or being very, very good at playing dead.” She was frowning at the console now with confusion. “Hey, did you hit anything to do with the computers when you attacked that intercom?”
“No, but thanks for reminding me to ask you to please have those fixed, will you? I’ll be using them a lot.”
“None of them are broken - you just don't know how to use 'em…” Abigail mused. She was only half-heartedly adding to the conversation because her attention was focused entirely on whatever she had picked up on. “Well, it looks like a certain “Neslo Nnif” has just dumped a substantial amount of data from a private piece of tech into the system and hooked himself up to all the security cameras and sensors. I'm gonna go ask him what he's up to - don't touch this console, I'm working on something with it.” Abigail pushed herself out of the chair and scurried off to the security room, leaving Victor to his own devices.
“Finn, probably the most mysterious member of the group,” Abigail responded, eyeing the older man with curiosity. “You're right about the ship, it's certainly someth-” her train of thought was immediately cut off by a series of loud metallic thuds. Now, Abigail was an engineer. She was more than accustomed to hearing machinery being broken. So to see such a powerful look of awestruck confusion pass across her features may, to the uninitiated, have caused a flicker of concern. She gently raised an index finger, mouth agape, and listened intently as Victor's terse grunting echoed through the corridors.
“We’re behind schedule and preparing for takeoff. You’ll be getting a run down for our first course of action once we’re off planet. I hope you’ve settled in.”
There was a brief pause. “...Well I'll be damned,” murmured Abigail in quiet contemplation. “I didn't think he'd manage to figure it out on his own.” Taking a brief moment to savour the occasion, Abigail nonchalantly added “Our captain is technologically challenged, but he's the best damn tactician to ever sail the stars. We best do as he says,” she clapped her hands together and started to make her way up the ladder. “Plenty of time to chat later, eh?”
“...Eh?” The entire ship whirred into life. Abigail had just made it up the ladder into the upper floor when the artificial gravity kicked in. She looked perplexed by the whole ordeal until Reika's dulcet tones reverberated through the chamber.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the Wight, this is your pilot speaking. We're about to take off, so I'm gonna activate the artificial gravity, but I'd recommend taking a seat anyway unless you wanna fall flat on your ass or worse."
“The fuck she wouldn't,” Abigail grunted as she immediately slid back down the ladder. “Get into a room it'll hurt less-” she blurted, grabbing her holopad and punching in a few codes. The touchpads for the doors to all of the dorms suddenly went green - she must have overrode the locking mechanism so that they'd open upon approach. In doing so, however, Abigail wasted precious seconds that could have gone to good use. Before she had the chance to get through her own doorway, Reika took off, and Abigail took off with her.
It was not a graceful tumble. She went rolling down the relatively short gangway and slammed into the far wall with an uncomfortable sounding bang whilst the din of the thrusters muffled her noises. Immediately, Abigail struggled to her hands and knees and pressed a black handkerchief to her face whilst her shoulders shook in a few spasms. As the noise level settled and the rest of the crew emerged, they could possibly hear Abigail releasing a series of wet, hacking coughs. The fit passed quite uneventfully as she brought herself to her feet and wiped at her mouth with the now damp cloth. She took a deep breath. She stretched until she felt a crack. Gingerly, she rubbed her shoulder. “Well that was exciting,” she commented with such forced cheerfulness that the icy undertones should have turned her lips blue. Abigail seemed to visibly tense, jaw clenching, fists tightening as another deep breath hissed through her nostrils like a jet of steam. That handkerchief squelched under the pressure as a thin red ribbon trickled between her fingers, splashing a drop or two of blood onto the steel tiles - hardly noticeable, unless one was particularly observant or looking for it. She seemed to be doing her damnedest to calm down.
But it wasn't working. Abigail made a beeline for the ladder and climbed it two rungs at a time.
Tackett Farmstead 09/23/34 Alice Hallark, Elijah Graham Coloured Barn, then Near the Farmhouse
Alice swiped another sheet off the dilapidated bed energetically. ”Better than whatever ol’ Tackett gives them I’m sure,” she responded wryly. The chefs at the farmhouse were gifted in their own right, but feeding half a hundred men with whatever they had left in stock from previous harvests or traded in from the markets was no easy feat. That said, Alice grew up on Louisiana gumbo, dirty rice, Jambalaya and more Beignets than she could ever hope for thanks to her uncle’s patients and the folk up in Jacksonville. Unfortunately, vegetable stew just paled in comparison against such a diverse menu. ”Nobody never tells me where they manage to find the ingredients - definitely not from round here, that’s for sure.” A plume of dust filtered through the barn as Alice ruefully thought about good, proper food as she dutifully went around her daily chores.
She certainly did not shirk away from the labour but this was most likely because it was not the worst part of doing the laundry. Not every farmhand on the ranch had the best sense of personal hygiene, and she pointedly ignored the smell of sweat and testosterone whilst she was taking in the linens. No, it looked like she was quite content to spend her time fluffing the pillows and turning the mattresses too, if only to stave off having to lug the pails of hot water into that steel washing tub and get to work rubbing her fingers raw. ”Hold up there bud, lemme at those bedsheets before you start swingin’,” chirped Alice lightheartedly, flashing Stumps a quick smile as she got to his bunk. It was not the first time she walked in on one of Joseph’s workout sessions, of course; she was one of the most mobile farmhouse workers on the property. Most of her colleagues were quite content to shut themselves off from the rest of the world in that sterile mansion but Alice could be seen flitting back and forth from the barns doing the cleaning and tidying around there. Of course, given her shorter skirt (purely for practical reasons, she claims) and her insistence on talking to all of the men with that full face of makeup, Alice had started to gain herself a bit of a...dubious reputation. Whether she was aware of it was another question entirely. Her conversations seemed too innocuous to carry any innuendoes but the fact she kept lurking around the men was enough to spark the rumour mill.
Nevertheless, if Alice was looking for anything specific from ol’ Stumps or Leo (who had busied himself playing solitaire on one of the rickety tables) then she was certainly not trying hard enough. ”I’m definitely gonna have to pull out the wool blankets in a couple weeks. It’s starting to get real cold at night and your walls are starting to look more like a sieve. Anyway,” Alice stretched back, clasping her hands together as she cracked her back. ”That’s me sorted out here. You two have a nice day off now, I’ll be back in a few with the fresh linens!” With a polite nod Alice heaved up the basket, which was now overflowing with piles of yellowed, reeking cloths. She was so petite that her head barely peeked over the top as she scooped her arms underneath the basket to get a better grip.
Even little Alice knew better than to mix the coloured and the whites’ belongings together when it came to the laundry, which meant she had to do two sets of washing in one day. She left the basket out by the porch, tucked at the side as she carefully wiped down her shoes before entering the household. Once she was there, she scurried down to the boiler room, squeezing between the tense bodies of a half-dozen sweaty women who were hard at work cleaning tablecloths, tea towels, napkins, shirts...the room was far too occupied to bring in billowing bedsheets and hope to make a solid job out of the whole thing. She grabbed a box of starchy fabric soap and one of the steel washtubs, trying to bustle her way back outside. Unfortunately, she managed to clip one of the older women with the edge of the tub - lightly, of course - and immediately got the venomous response for her clumsiness. “There you are, Alice. Done playing with the niggers? Because we’ve got a few more jobs for you if you deign to spare us a moment…”
”No, I’m not done. I’m doing both barns on my own today, my treat,” Alice replied warmly. As she reached the narrow stairway up to the ground floor, she muttered ”By the way, you’re meant to hold a broom with your hands, not shove it clear up your arse...” one of the girls let loose a snorting chuckle, catching Alice’s complaint as she disappeared out of the washroom. Bad news for her; that meant when she went down for the water, the whole team would know what she said. But that was just how it was when you’re lodging with a triade of overworked, underpaid and cranky girls. You had to find an outlet somewhere and the only alternatives were your boss or a bunch of six-foot gorillas. She set the washtub outside on the sandy grit, dumped the linens inside and went back down into the washroom where she made note of how conversation went stale the moment she entered the room.
The next twenty or so minutes involved a rather monotonous routine of pouring buckets of boiling water into a tub, sprinkling soap over the sodden mass of filthy sheets and then miserably grating them against a steel washboard whilst staring blankly into space. Alice hated her job. She truly, utterly despised it. She was no stranger to housework; back home, Alice was in charge of all of the chores whilst her uncle worked. What truly broke Alice here was the relentlessness of it all, the ceaseless mountain of work that she had to finish all day, every day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year. Back home, she was done by noon and could read, or go fishing, wander off to the park or get some ice cream with her friends. Here, work typically finished after dinner, once all of the dishes had been washed and put away. By the time that blessed hour rolled past Alice was so exhausted that she could barely bring herself to do much other than a chapter or two from her latest novel before collapsing into bed. She had aches in muscles she never knew existed. Her feet were swollen and her heels were cracking because of those devious flimsy mary-janes that she had to wear, making each pebble and rock painfully dig into the soles of her feet, allowing grit and dirt to seep over the edges and scrape into the blisters across her toes. She could feel all of the work getting to her, the onset of a cold that has been lurking this past fortnight in the depths of her body, constantly pushed back with second helpings of soup for lunch and as much sleep as Alice could muster. She knew she would not be able to keep this pace going for much longer. The other girls in the washroom probably knew it too.
Coincidentally, Elijah was taking a stroll and soaking up the sunday sun on his way to commencing checkups on some of the recently treated and healing. Squinting against the sunlight he leisurely directed his route to pass by Alice who was sat nearby the farmhouse going about her duties. “Pumpkin’” he voiced out, aiming to catch her attention. Alice lifted her head up at the nickname and waved a reddish hand to her uncle. She did not rise to greet him, too preoccupied with the laborious task set before her.
“Long sunday ahead?” he stood straight, squinting against the sunlight.
”As per usual,” Alice responded lightheartedly. ”Sometimes I wonder if I could pull the whole ‘Catholic’ shtick, but something tells me Mr. Tackett don’t believe in God anymore.” she went back to her scrubbing with a renewed vigour, seemingly frustrated over something. The water was already turning cloudy with muck.
“Sometimes I wonder if maybe you shoulda’ picked a better profession.” he stared at her, a shit eating grin slowly creeping up on his face.
Alice dropped the linens and gave her uncle a frosty stare. ”What, you mean like a receptionist? Plenty of job openings for a secretary out here in Cypress Hollows, huh? Or d’ya want me to get into the oldest profession? I bet that could bring in money. Shall I become a whore, uncle?” she went a little pinker as her tone of voice went sharper and louder before, realising that it wasn’t worth the effort, she sighed miserably and scrubbed at the sheets once more. ”Ain’t no other place for a woman on a farm and you know that,” she mumbled.
“Alright, alright, quit whingin’.” he kept smiling, letting a few seconds of silence linger in the air as he seemed to be contemplating something, “I can always tell ‘em I need your extra hand at the infirmary. It’s still work, but it’s a lot less laboursome’.”
”It wouldn’t work…” Alice mumbled. ”You barely got stuff to do as it is. And I’ve been serving that family for a few weeks now, they’re very-....traditional-”
“American?” he chuckled over her, mainly to himself.
”White American, yeah,”
“We’ll survive, sweetheart. Times change, we’ll be back home in no time.” he turned to look over at the barns which reminded him of the remainder of his duties. “I’m on my way to check up on a few people, i’d like have a look at you too later. All this time under the sun and you’re only gettin’ paler, I worry.”
”It’s the food, definitely. It’s so bland I feel like I’m drinking dirt. This tub, full of pee and ballsweat, probably has more spice in it than lunch here. Ugh, this is disgusting…” lamented Alice, peering down at the filthy water. She pondered over it for a moment before attempting to flick some at Elijah.
Elijah recoiled, stumbling away as droplets rained down on him: “Gawh! Wretched-... watch it you!” he yelled, face contorted in disgust. The mood now dampened, literally, Elijah ignored Alice to continue on his way to the barn for his checkups. Alice’s peals of laughter rung out across the yard, echoing down to meet him as he stormed off. Then she went back to washing.
Alice was stooped over a tarnished mirror in the attic, dutifully plastering her face with makeup. Her Sunday clothes were hung neatly in one of the communal wardrobes in the attic room. She was still wearing her wide-brimmed straw hat, if only to keep the impetuous mass of ginger curls away from her face until she had finished painting it. The attic was decidedly less well-kept than the rest of the mansion as it was the only room in the building that did not necessarily need to be cleaned. Everyone had their own ‘territory’, and Alice got the last scraps as she was one of the newcomers to the farm. She was shunted into the corner, but it was a corner with a wardrobe nearby and enough floorspace for her to squat down in front of a propped-up hand mirror with a brush and an infallible determination to, somehow, keep the beauty products she smears onto her features in place for more than a few hours of hard labour. Once she was finished, Alice tied her apron and whipped off her hat to stare miserably at her orange frizzy mass. She struggled with a hairbrush for a few minutes before resigning herself to simply managing her parting. She sucked in a deep breath and strode purposefully out of the door, taking the steps two at a time as she rushed out into the cool autumn day.
The first task was laundry. Alice was always in charge of changing the sheets in the coloured barns, primarily because she was the only one who was not particularly bothered by handling the linens of negroes every week. She whisked up a large wicker basket from one of the piles in the utilities rooms scattered around the mansion and skirted across the freshly polished floorboards as serenely as possible. Crossing the threshold into the farmyard itself, Alice raised a forearm to cover her eyes from the blinding sun and pressed the basket into her waist. She took long strides and crossed over to the black barn in mere moments. Once there, she knocked on the door - a bemused man opened it for her. Even though Alice had only been on the Tackett farm for a month, almost all of the african american residents knew her by name. “Mornin’ Miss Alice,” murmured the farmhand warmly, stepping aside to let her in.
“Good morning Leonard, how’ve you been? Did everyone remember to take off the linens-no they did not.” Alice huffed and looked at the array of unmade and half-heartedly stripped beds before her. “I keep telling you people to get it done before I show up so’s I don’t have to lurk around in your bedroom for too long,” she sighed, promptly getting to work whipping blankets and bedsheets off tired old mattresses and into her wicker basket. “Say, Leo, where is everybody? They ain’t all at church still?” Alice asked, peering at the largely vacated barn with curiosity. The farmhand responded with a vague shrug of his shoulders as two calloused digits scratched behind his left ear.
Alice fits the mould for American-Irish to an almost satirical degree. Her genetics from across the pond basically dominate her appearance, from the tightly curled carrot-orange hair cut so short on the sides that it's unruliness spills out over the top to the very composition of her physique; wide, childbearing hips are the final remnants of a curviness that struggles valiantly against the hollowing skinniness that gripped most of the populace during the 30s. Her breasts have shrunken under famine whilst the pooch in her belly tightened, as if her body was flattening itself under the strain. Her skin is speckled with many freckles all over, particularly on the face and shoulders. She is perpetually sunburnt. Her hands are still soft from the city life she left behind but beware the lumps of muscle on her arms and legs, for she wears them as marks of a different nature of toil.
In terms of attire, Alice’s old life is scandalously reflected in the way she dresses herself. Her skirts are hemmed just a little higher than they ought to be and she covets makeup whenever she has the cash to spare. This reflects on the way she paints her face; starting with the pencil thin brows and working her way through green eyeshadow, powder, blush, and raspberry red lipstick. Of course, as the laborious effects of her new occupation take hold, Alice shall swap this for simply focusing on lining her eyes and brows to avoid looking like she is melting in the heat - but the lipstick never budges. It remains a symbol of what she has been.
Personality
All first impressions that Alice gives off through her appearance scream ‘Hollywood Has-Been’, but you couldn’t be further from the truth. When it comes down to it, Alice is a seeker of experiences; a pioneer, she yearns for the new and the exciting in this world. She’s a thrillseeker first and a bar-singer second. Her sharp tongue and witty comments are more than enough to get her in trouble; it doesn’t help matters that she’s as stubborn as a mule and doesn’t hold back when she gets mad. Often restless and always fidgety, Alice 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.
Alice has a very dramatised way of living. She tries to include as many people as possible into the show, regardless of colour or sexuality - in the greasy underbelly of a cosmopolitan wonderland, anything goes so long as you look pretty. She gesticulates, jokes around, twirls, dances and skips her way through life. She is a very empathetic and perceptive individual but this reflects on the severity of her moods - when she is happy, she is elated. When she is sad, she can be flat-out despondent. Fear is paralysing and rage is all-encompassing. Her irrationality is in constant conflict with steady undercurrents of common sense and quiet wariness that a sharp mind and a solid upbringing has given her, which she owes primarily to her uncle. She has developed a ruthless survival instinct during her years alone in the big city that, when provoked, will spur her into doing whatever it takes to live - even if she must deal with the consequences later.
History
Alice cannot remember a time when she wasn’t on the road. Her earliest memories were brief and indistinct. Her mother was estranged from the family for (briefly) dating a negro; she hastily married Alice’s father, who was a white middle class automobile salesman, and gave birth en route to their new home in Alabama. Mr. Hallark was conscripted into the war when Alice was 4 and died when she was 6. Her mother couldn’t afford childcare so after school Alice wandered to the small hotel where Ms. Hallark-Graham worked each day. She remembered doing her homework and sleeping in the lobby until it got dark, or singing along to the gramophone by the reception desk. When Alice reached 10 years old, the inheritance that her father left had started to run dry. Her mother became desperate. She helped her daughter pack her belongings into a suitcase and they took a very long train ride to Florida.
Once they arrived, it was an even longer walk to an isolated country house in the plains to meet a man that Alice had never met before. According to her mother, the man was her uncle; a travelling doctor who worked in the surrounding area. His name was Elijah Graham. Unbenownst to the little Alice, her mother had made arrangements for her to remain with Elijah until their living conditions could stabilise enough to start living as a proper family again. She departed shortly after leaving Alice in her uncle’s care, and Alice has never seen nor heard from her since.
Naturally, the first month or so of living with her uncle left Alice distraught for days, almost weeks on end. She wanted to go home - even though Elijah had worn himself out by repeatedly telling her that her old home had to be sold off and that this new and unfamiliar land was where she would be living for the foreseeable future. She had to make new friends at school and adjust to living in the countryside. She climbed many trees - and fell out of them. She watched, curiously, from the living room as her uncle brought the sick and the wounded into his office for treatment. As she grew older, Alice was in charge with cleaning and maintenance of equipment - she learned very basic first aid by watching her uncle perform. He taught her after school. With his salary, Alice was able to go to the shops and visit the funfair; she was granted a semi-normal childhood for a couple of years as she started to settle in.
During school holidays, they did not take vacations to different parts of the country; Elijah took Alice out on long-distance calls where his skills were needed as a sort of road trip. During these travels, particularly to large cities where doctors are always in short supply for minority groups, Alice was introduced to the sleazy American middle class - flapper girls, speakeasies, automobiles and movie stars as far as the eye can see. She was perhaps a few years too young to truly understand its dangers, but was enraptured by the glamour. It became something akin to an obsession; she idolised Josephine Baker, Bessie Smith, and Louis Armstrong. For Alice, it did not matter that they were ‘coloured’. She adored the way they carried themselves on stage and the allure of their voices. She also had the opportunity to see many smaller performances live, as being a doctor for the oppressed gave Elijah many favours that he liked to cash in when he had the chance.
This all backfired when, at the meagre age of 17, Alice absolutely insisted on following their salacious footsteps. She was still too naive to understand what it all truly meant but she was relentless in her protests until Elijah, furious and exasperated, got into contact with a man called Fred Olson to sort out a short, 3-week trial period in Jacksonville. Olson was a small-time agent for performers, specialising in singers and actors, and he owed Eli a fair amount for helping his wife with a series of birth complications after her first baby was a stillborn. Elijah forked out a significant sum of money, made Alice swear on the bible that she will follow Olson’s every word (with the exception of using her common sense) and sent the girl on her merry way to learn about life the hard way. What he was not expecting was a telegram from Olson that simply said “I wasn’t expecting that,” and several days later a flyer posted through his letter box with Alice’s name and face plastered all over it. He had never heard of the establishment but he had his utmost faith in Olson’s ability to protect the girl whilst she was in the big city.
The reality was decidedly less glamorous than Alice had anticipated. She was, by Hollywood’s standards, a decidedly ugly character against the blonde pristine beauties on the silver screen. Her mass of freckles and unruly hair brought in the customers in the same way a dwarf brought in spectators at a freak show. It was her voice that kept them; a little rough on the edges but it gave Alice the charm and favour that she needed to survive in this ruthless business. As her ‘career’ started to pick up she became distinctly aware of the cat-calling and general harassment that was much more prominent in the city. There were no laws in place for these sorts of situations; were it not for her backup singers, Molly and Pip, it is likely that Alice would have found herself in a much worse situation than the minor slip-ups that she fell into during her first few weeks. These two women were much older than she was, decidedly past their prime and vehemently jealous of her opportunities. They mistreated Alice and toyed with her gullibleness but ultimately protected the kid as she made her first wobbling steps into show business.
Alice lasted in Jacksonville for around two years. She lost out on some vital education but brought in a steady (albeit pitiful) income, which was more than her classmates back home could boast about. Whilst she was there she witnessed the highs and lows of city life, tasted prohibited alcohol, lost her virginity and got into an embarrassing number of dive-bar brawls by being an unfortunate passer-by. The experience wrenched Alice from her fairly clueless country life into the gritty reality of the world and whilst it sobered her and gave her an indispensable gut instinct, it couldn’t penetrate the bubble of optimism that Alice had steadfastly grew up with. The moment the stock market crashed, Olson laid off almost a third of his clients - Alice included - as he buckled down to weather out the storm. Despondent at the sudden interruption of her ‘big break’, Alice scurried back home to Elijah. Her uncle had visited regularly during those two years but it did not make Alice’s return any less emotional for the young lady. She put her dress and heels away, kept the makeup on her vanity desk and tried to settle back into the routine - but the routine was once again turned on its head as the initial waves of the Great Depression hit with horrifying accuracy. With Elijah’s wallet starting to tighten, the duo decided that their discounted rates and commission fees could not sustain them alone and the stress was overbearing; they made haste to the Tackett farm nearby to offer their services, Elijah as a doctor and Alice as a ‘nurse’ - though the latter was primarily grouped in with all the other cleaning staff in the farmhouse. In this isolated ranch, it was their intention to avoid the worst of the stock market scare and return in the aftershocks to profit from them.
Speech Color
Mint | #93f9cf
Traits
Medic - You can perform basic first-aid to a certain degree of skill. +2 Agile - You are quick and light on your feet. +1 Quick-Thinking - You can make use of improvised weapons, such as bottles, broomsticks, and fire. +3 Observant - You are better at noticing traps, as well as your enemies' weaknesses. +1 Showman - You are a performer, skilled with impressions and disguises. +1 Quiet - You make little noise, and are adept at sneaking around. +2
Weak - You are not physically strong. -1 Frail - You have little stamina. -2 Skittish - You frighten easily, and have trouble keeping your cool in stressful situations. -2 Proud - You are unused to harsh living conditions or menial labor, and unwilling to perform degrading tasks. -2
10 - 7 = 3
Inventory
Alice owns a fairly large lockbox, to which she wears the key around her waist every day (because who in their right mind would shove their wandering hands into her blouse?) and keeps hidden away in the back of her suitcase under her bed. Within are mementos - photographs, drawings, letters, flyers from everything good that has happened to her so far. When she is having a bad day, she takes the lockbox out from its hiding spot and rifles through its contents. Make-up kits - in plentiful amounts, with varying degrees of quality. Formalwear - flapper girl dresses and all their accessories, alongside two somber gowns. Quite dusty. A pocket knife - You never know! A diary - This is kept separate from her lockbox and under her pillow. Hip flask of moonshine - You never know!
Mixtape Ghost N
