Xandrya

Backrooms: The Thing that Breathes

A quick post as I'm on vacation!

Backrooms: The Thing that Breathes

It was terribly cliche to believe this place to be a dream, or rather, a nightmare. But what other explanation could there possibly be? All she wanted to do now was hold Leila in her arms and take her home, let her know that she was safe under mommy's embrace... But the voices, they mocked her, in a way that was strangely too personal for comfort.

"Shut up!" Michelle finally snapped, hands at either side curled up in fists due to the uncontrolled anger of not being able to just see her daughter. "You're playing a sick game that I want no part of!" Her chest was heaving up and down just the slightest as she looked at each of the exits. "Where's Leila? Where's my little girl?" She did not know just yet what the encrypted phrase was supposed to read. Off the top of her head, she figured that the metal door was the one to go through as it was harder to solve.

"Do I get a clue for this?" Her tone was a bit more normal now. The water covered her feet up to her ankles, but as annoying as it was to image having to deal with entirely soaked shoes, it wasn't her priority.

Backrooms: The Thing that Breathes

Michelle Levington

Michelle Levington

32 | Female | 9/13/1993 | 5'2 | 120 lbs


Leila Levington | 4 | Female

Personality: Calm, gentle, and caring. Michelle is not the type to cause unnecessary drama and usually distances herself away from such characters. She’d much rather have answers than questions, making her a natural problem-solver.

Phobias/Fears:

• Losing her husband
• The dark
• Heights
• Drowning
• Clowns

History: Born and raised as the youngest of three siblings. Since her two older brothers always made her tag along in their adventures, Michelle learned from a young age what exactly it took to “survive”. Building fires, fixing up a cut, etc., it was all routine for her. As time went on and she got older, Michelle told herself she wanted to be in the medical field. Fast forward a couple of decades later, and that’s exactly what she’s doing. While her husband is away on deployment, Michelle keeps busy being a nurse practitioner in the hospital all while raising their daughter.

Skills: Proficiency in dealing with basic survival and extensive medical knowledge.

Inventory:Her backpack with an additional change of clothing, a first-aid kit, a bottle of water, and a granola bar.

Backrooms: The Thing that Breathes

I'll get the CS up and ready tonight after my little one falls asleep! 😊

Backrooms: The Thing that Breathes

I'm interested!

Firefly - Second 'Verse

The Shot

OOC: JP from @wanderingwolf and @Xandrya

Once Imani finished typing up the medication that’d been dispensed to Abby, she saved the information and opened up a blank e-form on her datapad. Most of the new information would be entered as she went, mostly from a drop-down list. Resetting the equipment took less than a minute, though it was within that short time that her next patient showed up. None other than their captain. Imani hadn’t quite interacted much with him since their conversation about her new role, not that was much to discuss anyway.

So, here he was showing up to the infirmary treating Imani like the bonafide medic she was. The steel of the doorway felt cold as he lighted on Imani’s brown eyes. She had a datapad in hand, but there was some mystery in the depths of those calculating browns. Could be that he just wasn’t used to seeing her all official like–more in the bruising sort of nature. He pursed his lips, considering the bruising that could come out of a checkup with Imani. He’d dragged himself here trying a new thing akin to ‘leading by example.’ So far seemed more like he was following Abigail’s lead. He nodded to himself; that suited him just fine.

“Hey Doc. Heard you’re looking to suss out the crew.” He ran a cursory glance over the countertops of instruments that looked a mite mean. “Seems sensible to me: so here I am.” Cal spread his arms before taking off his duster.

“Right on schedule,” she typed a few letters and selected his name to have his pre-saved information load up. It was after a few moments that she finally met his gaze. "Go on and stand on that scale there,” Imani motioned. She was being polite, or so she thought. Despite his presence drawing no smile on her face, her tone was friendly. “Stand still while it gets your height and weight.” And there, were she interacting with someone else, she would have made some joke or another about watching the number of meat pies they were consuming in a day.

Coat slung over the chair in the center of the room, the Captain did as he was told, lumbering like the cattle he felt like–terse was Imani’s directive. “What? No wise-crackin’ at my figures?” he smart-alec’ed, as he set boot on the scale. His tone weren’t exactly friendly, but weren’t otherwise. He took another gander at the medic from head to toe. Comfortable was how she looked in the infirmary, but maybe uncomfortable under his gaze. Maybe it was his declaration that she oughn’t be flying solo when lives were on the line... It was honest of him on account of he hadn’t seen her mettle just yet, but maybe he hadn’t expressed his enthusiasm enough for her new post.

Same as before, Imani went on to record his first set of stats, subtracting a few pounds to account for his clothing and whatnot. She smiled just enough to get him to stop reading her mind, or something of the likes. “I coulda sworn I heard something about a diet, maybe it was someone else’s promise to theyselves to cut back on some carbs, not that it’d last... Up you go," she motioned.

“You look like you’re settlin’ in. How’d it go with Abigail? She give you any trouble?” Trouble? Abigail? He snickered at his own jest over his shoulder, so as to stand as still as she’d bade him.

“You happen to catch her, maybe a slight limp? That wasn’t my doing, well, not directly. When she happened to be roughed up real good back then, some of it stayed with her, as it always does with any of us. Any which way, she was insisting I teach her some defensive moves, treat her as if she were a real foe. She surely felt my heel digging into her shin while her arm was wrapped around my neck, but now she’s a tiny bit wiser when it comes to saving herself so...win-win?

Strand arched an eyebrow, mouth slightly agape, paired with an inquisitive look that slowly turned into a knowing nod. That all tracked. Imani was no egghead; he’d learned that watching her pull knives in a bar brawl. The fact that she could stitch a wound was tangential to the fact that she could kick pi goh. No soft hands found here…

Imani then looked up at him, lowering the datapad to just about her midsection and hugging it as if it were a favorite book of hers. “Can you keep this between us? I don’t want her to know I told you.”

He cocked his head, surprised by Imani’s display of vulnerability. This woman could travel the gamut of emotions in a heartbeat. There was more to it, though: expressing a confidence as consoler. Cal’s jaw worked in his cheek as he considered the implications of what Imani had mentioned regarding Abigail.

And exactly why had she told him? Imani’d be lying to herself if she did to give him a heads up on Abby's most recent “battle scar”. That wasn’t it. The real reason was to have him in the know as to her mental health. Maybe Abby had already told him something, maybe not, but Imani felt it to be of enough importance to occupy some space in that head of his.

In the silence that followed Imani’s question, Cal reviewed her report: Abigail had seen the business end of a biker gang–come out on the other side by taking their colors. It still stuck with her. She wanted to know how to protect herself, reached out to Imani to learn. Then it dawned: Abigail still felt unsafe.

That part hit him like a blow. In his mind, simple maxims like ‘the China Doll is home’ and ‘we’ve got each other’s backs’ were the salve and inoculant to fears and worries, but Abigail was still just a girl–young woman, now. She didn’t have her feet under her yet. Cal scratched the back of his neck, his brow furrowed in recognition of similar personal fears at her age.

“Yeah,” he pursed his lips, “I won’t mention it.” He stepped off the scale to lean against the nearby counter, brows still drawn. “Thanks for tellin’ me, Imani.” Strand nodded, “She mightn’t’ve told me outright, prideful as she is. Much as I can empathize, I reckon she feels safer with you.”

Imani showed instant regret. Out of the many possible outcomes, she had not expected Cal to react as such. “Maybe it’s tough talkin’ to you bout certain things cause you’re her boss and well, a man…” She absent-mindedly tapped the back of the data pad with her fingertips before smiling akin to someone trying to convince there’s good news when there really ain’t.

“Can’t change either of those things so…” Cal’s gaze measured Imani’s posture as she changed tune.

"Alright, let's get back on track, shall we? Any concerns since your last work-up? And don't try to be the hero you otherwise are out there—in here, you're just another patient needing to tell the truth or otherwise you'll be getting the stern talking to like we usually do with the hardheads.”

Strand let out a deep laugh, “Last checkup? I don’t reckon I’ve let a doc at me for a physical on my ship in memory.” Thinking of Alana for a moment, he added, “An’ I don’t think our last medic kept notes on my health, though physical we were…” Cal just let that last bit hang in the air.

“Mhmm,” she nodded all too quickly, taking away Cal’s chance to follow up if he wanted. Imani began tapping away on her datapad, eyes on the screen. She opened a new tab and sure enough, his medical history was blank. “Ya mind if I get a blood sample from you? I’d prefer the log to have some information instead of it being nothing but a blank."

Strand wore a button down green-plaid shirt, saddled with brown suspenders, and was already tightly fitted around his elbows. He pursed his lips a mite before he deftly began undoing the buttons from his neck southward. “S’pose it couldn’t hurt.” Beneath his shirt there lie only his chest hair and lean-ish physique as he undid the last button and shrugged out of the garment. Imani had caught him on an up swing in his physical regimen, following his grief at the loss of Alana. Morning routines had shown results, and though his stomach wasn’t board-flat, his chest and obliques were toned to his liking.

He tossed his shirt over one shoulder, “This arm good?” he asked, indicating his left. “Where do you want me?” His hazel eyes measured hers.

Imani looked up for a fraction of a second when she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. He was undressing; a good sign. That meant he wasn’t opposed to getting a needle in him. A bit overdone though, with his whole shirt gone in the moments she was preparing to go fetch a needle and sample tube, among other things.

“Sit over there on the exam table for me.” Imani fixed her eyes on his. Despite his obviously toned physique, she would not get caught ogling him. As he made himself comfortable, she went and reached for a pair of gloves. “That arm is good with me if it’s good with you. I can find a vein in the dark, not that I’ve ever attempted that...” she smirked at the thought of that one evening many moons ago.

“Uh huh,” he let his incredulous tone ring a moment as he looked around the infirmary. Under Alana’s care, he hadn’t questioned her request for some updated equipment; probably the very same Imani planned on using to extract all the figures from his blood. Thinking about Alana sobered him a bit. He had almost forgotten the feeling of coming around a corner and seeing her in here, measuring her mixtures, tallying her tinctures. Those broad eyebrows used to raise in greeting. In the end, though, she looked right past him. He chewed his cheek as Imani returned to his side, gloved hands ready with a swab for his elbow. “You ever run medical for a crew this size before?”

“Plenty of times if I dare say so myself,” she added, placing a soft ball on his hand and instructing him to squeeze in short intervals. Imani wiped clean the skin over his vein right at the crease of the elbow, then putting the alcohol wipe aside, she got a better grasp on the needle to place the tip a mere centimeters away. “This won’t be but a pinch...” As Imani spoke, she inserted the needle into his arm. There was about a second delay until she saw blood, which then slowly began to fill the sample tube. “You can drop that now.”

The Captain nodded as he watched his new medic work. She was hospitable and professional in here. If he squinted, he reckoned he could still spy the bruiser underneath the healer, but it was a long shot. Not a lick of sass while she was engulfed in her work.

There was a paper napkin holding gauze and a bandaid beside him. Imani slowly pulled the needle out once she had drawn enough blood, simultaneously stopping the tiny bleed with the gauze. The dirty needle was replaced by the bandaid, which she applied over the gauze. “Wasn’t too bad, was it?"

“You know what you’re doin’,” Cal said, slipping arms into his shirt. “We’re only on Little Moriah for a mite, so any supplies you need for our long job, you’re cleared to net.” He finished buttoning up his shirt and peeled into his suspenders, “Swing by Yuri for petty creds.” She’d only taken a small vial, but he still tasted pennies on his tongue. The infirmary had taken on that cold of deep space mingled with the anticipation of stretching your legs, and Cal had a mind to take a stretch alongside Abigail to clear a few things up. “Anythin’ else, Doc?”

“You’re free as a bird, captain.” With the sample tube aside, she trashed the dirty needle in the appropriate receptacle followed by her gloves. “I must say,” Imani then turned to face him, "while this may be hard, consider cutting back on the smoking a bit. You’re healthy enough; I’m sure finding another fix won’t be hard for you."

The laughter that followed her recommendation rolled on in stops and starts as Cal donned his duster, head shaking, and disappeared out the infirmary with a wave back to his medic.

Imbroglio: a Wedding RP Interest Check

Why yes, I'm interested. Thank you for asking!

MAFIA: Madame Broussard's Witchy Wares

Amalie

Name: Amalie of the Ravenscroft Clan
Age: 105 years old
Species: Fairy

Height: 1ft tall
Weight: 10 lbs

Image

Citizenship: None, exiled status
Occupation: Nurturer

Background: Amalie has had a difficult past. As quite a young fairy, she'd already found herself in the middle of one of the biggest scandals within her clan as a result of an envious sister. Amalie was loved by all the fairies of the Ravenscroft clan, all but one. Their leader, Demetrius, grew terribly ill one evening after having supper with some fellow clan leaders. Amalie had prepared a delicious meal for them, but when Demetrius could not stop himself from vomiting, nearly everyone suspected Amalie. It was later found out he had ingested magical seeds, that which only Amalie had custody of. Needless to say, no one entertained the idea that her sister, Ginny, was behind it all. Subsequent to Demetrius' death, Amalie was stripped of her magical power and ousted from the clan, all while being completely innocent.

Inventory:

• Seeds, both magical and normal.
• A ladybug often wondering about. They both communicate with each other often.
• A piece of small rope.
• A magical key

Firefly - Second 'Verse

Hand-to-Hand Healthcare

OOC: JP from @Xandrya and @sail3695

”Attention all hands, this is the first mate. Due to the length of time and remote location of our next job, Captain’s ordered everyone to report to Medbay for a complete physical exam. Abby, you’re up first. Imani will be ready for you in thirty ticks….”

Thirty ticks was jest enough time fer a proper shower an’ fresh clothes what didn’t stink of sweat. Afore today, only times Abby seen inside Medbay was if she got somethin’ hurt. She weren’t sure at all of what to expect, so she double scrubbed ever’ place, just tah be safe. Brushed ‘er teeth twice, too. Not knowin’ what Imani might wanna poke or prod at, the deckhand conjured less clothes might be better. With two minutes to spare, she showed up outside Medbay in a pair ‘o’ shorts an’ a tank top what read:

HAP’S LA FRONTERA
- Greenleaf -
So many great bars…and you came here?

The door was hangin’ open. “Imani…doc? Doc Imani?” She tapped on the doorframe. “Here fer muh phys’cal?”

“Come on in, Abby,” Imani looked over her shoulder at the redhead who was cutting it close with time, not that Imani was a stickler for punctuality. In fact, she herself had the occasional tardiness or two on record.

“Given my new position, I need to go down this checklist if ya don’t mind…” She turned to face the young girl, directing her to a scale that wasn’t there before. Once Abby settled in place, Imani recorded the displayed weight on her datapad. “Don’t move just yet…” From the corner of the scale, a green laser shone up adjacent to Abby which reached the height of the topmost part of her head. The scale then read her height. Imani then added that information in her datapad, which would automatically calculate the girl’s BMI, showing it was well within normal range.

Abby held still as numbers flipped an’ come tah rest, tellin’ her weight an’ height. “Five foot six,” the deckhand read aloud. “And one seventeen. Funny,” she shook ‘er head. “Ain’t grown any taller, but looks like Ah’m gittin’ wider. Is that normal?”

She smiled reassuringly, head slightly cocked to the side. “As normal as can get. You’re growing into womanhood, that’s all. And the labor the captain’s got you doing…that’s gonna tone you up. Alright, you may step down. Aside from recent injuries that have been previously recorded, are there any other medical issues I should know about?”

Abby thought on that one a spell. “Nah,” she finally answered. “Not really. Reg’lar pulled muscles an’ scrapes from hossin’ crates in tha cargo bay. Aside from that,” she give a shrug, “nada. All shiny.” Fer a sec she pondered why ever’ medbay she ever been in had tah be so gorram cold. I wager it’s a test, she finally decided. Goose flesh check, or some such.

Walking over, Imani patted the exam bed beside her. She reached for a band that when placed around someone’s arm, would give that person’s vitals amongst other things. “Have a seat if you will, just gonna handle this real quick.” Imani pushed a button and waited a few moments. While so, she turned to Abby. “Everything good in there?” she motioned towards the girl’s head.

That one sorta threw Abby. “In muh head?” she asked. “I s’pose. Ain’t zackly been all tea an’ biscuits around here of late, but Ah’m makin’ it.” The arm band commenced inflatin’, gettin’ tight on ‘er bicep so she could feel tha blood pumpin’ in ‘er veins. Then she remembered Thomas, a thought tah brighten her face. “It’s all lookin’ up, I reckon.”

Suddenly, she wondered if this kinda stuff was what Imani was askin’ about. “Yah did mean ‘what’s on muh mind, dinya?” she asked the new doc.

“It’s certainly what I mean.” This last reading was automatically saved on the datapad, a small beep later and she was removing the band from Abby’s arm. “Ya know, mental health affects your general health and I'm making it so you’re all good.” She placed the items down then turned to Abby, leaning with her back to the counter. “Any other concerns, health-related or otherwise?"

The girl smiled as a quick mem’ry of tha last time she’s asked that question crossed ‘er mind. Tha time Alana asked, she had tah admit some embarrassment fer worryin’ ‘bout tha bullet scar on ‘er pi gu and wonderin’ if she could ever wear a bikini. The Doc had been kind in her assurances, all proved right when Abby did hit tha beach on Pelorum.

After dousin’ tha smirk, she opened ‘er mouth with another question. “Cap’n’s told us yer really good in a scrap,” Abby began. “Ain’t seen yah in action but once, when that Shepherd put ‘is hands on yah. Weren’t even a tussle,” she shook ‘er head. “Jest one really slick move an’ he’s beggin’ fer mercy.” She stepped down from tha treatment table. “Them bikers what took me? They’s on me an’ I didn’t have a chance,” Abby said. “Can’t help wonderin’ how that mighta ended if Ah could handle muhself better.”

Abby’s eyes lifted toward Imani’s. “I’s wonderin’ if yah could teach me a few things? So I ain’t so helpless when somethin’ like that happens again?”

“Hope nothing like that happens again soon...but if it did, you want me to train ya some? I’ll gladly teach you a thing or two. For example—“ Imani motioned for Abby to move closer to her. She then turned around, taking Abby’s arm as she went and placed it around her neck. “If someone grabs you from behind, you can do a shin strike and scrape.” The interim medic demonstrated what she meant, placing the side of her shoe on Abby’s shin and guiding it down without putting force in the movement. “You’re first striking their shin, then dragging your foot down forcibly and with some strength behind it.” Imani tapped her arm twice and turned to face the girl. “It works best if his shin’s exposed but then that’d mean he wasn’t wearing any pants.” Imani smiled then laughed a little at her own terrible joke. “You think you got it? That’s just one of a multitude of techniques you can try."

The deckhand followed Imani’s lead, slippin’ ‘er arm about tha woman’s neck from behind. Tha new doc’s move weren’t nothin’ she’d seen afore, let alone expected. A shoe touched ‘er shin with a mild push, then slid down, tha heel trailin’ her shinbone til Imani’s foot come softly down on ‘er own.

“You’re first striking their shin, then dragging your foot down forcibly and with some strength behind it.”

She couldn’t quite conjure how well it worked. When Imani give ‘er arm coupla taps to let go, Abby’s all set tah try it herself, an’ was jest ‘bout tah ask as much.

“It works best if his shin’s exposed but then that’d mean he wasn’t wearing any pants.”

Like tha crack of a whip, she was right back there. The bag on ‘er head smelled somethin’ horrible. Filthy burlap itched on ‘er face where she was bent down on tha table. She could hear tha knife, workin’ its’ way through her tee shirt an’ bra as Lido cut ‘em tah scraps.

“Aaaaabby…” His voice in ‘er ear…a hand gropin’ ‘er bosoms til it slid down tah pull ‘er denims off.

She growed up bein’ tough, jest like Uncle Bob taught ‘er. ”Don’t show no weakness, Chick Pea.” An’ she tried. All ‘er life, she tried. But that one moment, as that man…that Lido..hauled ‘er unders down, Abby cried, an’ she begged. She…begged.

“Aaaaabby…”

The response Imani got wasn’t one she was expecting. It was as if Abby’s mind was suddenly elsewhere. A blank expression on her face, those distant eyes... Imani quickly grew concerned, her hand hovering over the girl’s shoulder but not wanting to scare her.

Her hand clutched tha exam table, holdin’ ‘er steady as Uncle Bob said it again, clear as day. ”Don’t let it show….don’t let it show…” From deep inside come tha shame; she fought tah push it back. It was shiny. Ever’thing’s shiny. She’s in Medbay. Imani’s teachin’ her…teachin’ ‘er some fightin’ moves.

“You alrighty, Abby? I said something wrong, didn’t I?”

At last, Abby turned toward ‘er newfound instructor. “Nah,” she tried shakin’ it off. “It’s all shiny. But can Ah ask a favor? Can we do that again? Fer real? Ah wanna know how it feels.”

Imani thought on that for a moment. Abby was big enough to know what she wanted; what she needed. If it’d help her sort out her business in that head of hers, then Imani was more than happy to oblige. “Try to make it realistic then, yeah? Come at me as if you want to choke me ‘til my body gives...” With that, Imani turned away from Abby and walked a few paces away, waiting for the young deckhand to strike.

“Like a choke hold, yeah? Okay.” Imani’s back was turnt, an’ she’d moved off coupla paces. Fer a sec, Abby pondered how much arm strength she oughtta use. She kinda feared what she’s feelin’, tucked jest beneath ‘er skin as she come forward. Abby never put nobody in a choke hold afore, but she seen it enough in some of them spy shows she watched. And fer now, thinkin’ about that was one helluva lot better’n recallin’ that what haunted ‘er dreams most nights.

”When you’re a spy, violence is a tool. Use it deliberately, and without emotion…”

Everythin’ she ever seen…ever’ time she heard it told, she s’posed tah bury her feelin’s…not let ‘em cloud ‘er judgment or purpose. Til right now, Abby always thought she did that part right well. So, why come it is that a joke ‘bout a man not wearin’ pants could knock ‘er so far off kilter? It was plain as day she’s gon’ need tah think on that a spell. She’s doin’ it again, gorramit! Clear your head, jackass!

Abby conjured it wise tah keep ‘er dominant hand, tha gun hand, free. She closed tha gap in a single stride, right foot forward, her left arm goin’ around Imani’s neck. Her bicep tensed enough tah make this feel kinda real. The gun hand hovered behind Imani’s right elbow.

Do no harm.

An ethical code she'd not strayed from. Not yet anyway. Imani was not a licensed physician but she followed similar guidelines.

First it was the couple of steps approaching her, then the arm snaking around her neck. Imani would follow through with Abby's request, though she'd dial it back to prevent major bruising.

When the arm around her tensed, Imani kicked her foot back to make contact with Abby's shin. There was a small jump, as expected. She then scraped down her leg with enough force to make Abby let go, but she didn't dig a much as she could have were she being truly attacked.

Abby stiffened, knowin’ she’s ‘bout tah get hit, waitin’ fer Imani’s backblow. I kinda wish I didn’t know… “OOOOOOOAAAAAUUUUGGGGHHHHH!” First, tha kick startled ‘er, then a sheet ‘o’ pain rocked Abby from kneecap tah ankle. It was like that word in her books…ex-cru-ciat-ing…..

”...It works best if his shin’s exposed…”
As Imani’s heel done its’ work, Abby nearabouts regretted wearin’ shorts tah her physical. She lost ‘er grip on tha medic, doublin’ over afore her hand clutched tha exam table. ”Xiā hóuzi de érzi!!!, she hollered. “THAT GORRAM HURT!”

She turned around. The instant regret in the form of a slew of lively language was somewhat satisfying. Imani smirked, shaking her head as if taunting Abby. “I told ya it’d hurt, but now you know it works.”

Funny thing was, a sharp jolt ‘o’ pain like that done more’n jest promise a bruise on Abby’s shin. All sudden like,her mind was blasted clear of all its’ cobwebs. An’ that, she reckoned, felt mighty fine. Mighty fine indeed. “Hooo, la shi!” she swore as she took tah hobblin’ about. “Damn if that don’t work!” A giggle passed ‘er lips. One blow an’ she’s staggerin’ like ole Rex on a bender. “Wow, Imani!” Abby bust out laughin’ at herself, “that hurts somethin’ fierce! Can yah teach me more? Mebbe have some practices?”

“There’s plenty for your learning, I’ll be glad to teach ya.” She gently guided Abby back onto the table. With a smile, she underhanded the girl’s leg just above the ankle to take a look at the damage. Imani figured it was nothing time wouldn’t solve as she slightly rotated Abby’s leg one way and then the other. The minor scrape and bruising would likely be gone in a couple of days. “Here, let me give ya some aftercare cream,” Imani briefly left Abby’s side, “It ain’t miracle in a bottle but you’ll get a nice tingling feel on your shin. Think of it as my peace offering to you.”

MAFIA: Madame Broussard's Witchy Wares

They gave me the day today so here it is!

Amalie

Name: Amalie of the Ravenscroft Clan
Age: 105 years old
Species: Fairy

Height: 1ft tall
Weight: 10 lbs

Image

Citizenship: None, exiled status
Occupation: Nurturer

Background: Amalie has had a difficult past. As quite a young fairy, she'd already found herself in the middle of one of the biggest scandals within her clan as a result of an envious sister. Amalie was loved by all the fairies of the Ravenscroft clan, all but one. Their leader, Demetrius, grew terribly ill one evening after having supper with some fellow clan leaders. Amalie had prepared a delicious meal for them, but when Demetrius could not stop himself from vomiting, nearly everyone suspected Amalie. It was later found out he had ingested magical seeds, that which only Amalie had custody of. Needless to say, no one entertained the idea that her sister, Ginny, was behind it all. Subsequent to Demetrius' death, Amalie was stripped of her magical power and ousted from the clan, all while being completely innocent.

Inventory:

• Seeds, both magical and normal.
• A ladybug often wondering about. They both communicate with each other often.
• A piece of small rope.
• A magical key