Realistic or Modern 𝕋𝐇𝐄 𝔻𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝕐𝐎𝐔 𝕂𝐍𝐎𝐖 { CS }

[idalie]

xxxx

/* credit to sugarvine*/

• XHISTORYINFORMATIONHEREINTAB03
• XXXIMDAD05
• XXXXXXNASTYBOYTAB06

• character sheet

  the sheet will be fairly simple. as a reminder, roles will not be first come first serve. apps will be due in one week! if they are done earlier and we do not receive any more applicants then we will make early decisions and start early! please be sure to finish your app if you want to be considered! If you lose speed partway through and want to bow out no stress, just delete your post! Please try to fill the specified roles in first. We will allow a maximum of 3 surplus folks/characters in from the set number, just for sake of keeping the small group small. thanks again for everyone's interest!
  
  feel free to use code or don't, but we always enjoy a pretty layout.
  
  
  basics
  name
  nicknames
  age: (20+)
  p.o.b: (place of birth)
  d.o.b: (date of birth)
  occupation
  role:
  
  appearance
  faceclaim: (written description is okay, aesthetic pics for 'faceclaim' works)
  written description (slightly optional: if you have an fc, feel free to omit some of the description but please provide anything that isn't pictured)
  height
  tattoos/piercings/etc
  
  personality
  four pos traits
  four neg traits
  fears (one or two)
  wants (one or two)
  hobbies/interests
  vices (one or two)
  
  background
  family members (please list what you can, this is more for character related dev as well as potential plots to reference)
  equipment (provide maximum three things that you will bring with you at any point in time.)
  personal history
• 

  @sugarvine

  THE NOVELIST

  
  the most likely to not have truly had a real experience with spirits or demons (if you so choose), you are someone who craves a good story. be it by your own pen, or from others, but you are an avid consumer of written media and it consumes you, sometimes. nights spent half-awake, churning out manuscripts or reading book chapters. sometimes you think you see things, when the sleep plays tricks on you... or maybe they are real. whether your intentions are legitimate or a farce, you began to attend the meetings at saint benedict's and were captivated by the people there. for some reason or another, you haven't left-- and you're more than enthused to start this little adventure.
  

  

  @sugarvine

  THE EX-POSSESSION VICTIM

  
  darkness haunts you. the shadows that were once mere flickering echoes of lost light now speak of nightmares that you seek to forget. however it happened, you were possessed. by a demon, or a spirit, you found yourself at the will of something that was not living. it was a harrowing ordeal-- and had whoever saved you not taken you seriously, you probably would have died from it. many, many restless nights led you to saint benedict's to attend a meeting of sorts, for people who were like you or knew what you'd gone through. maybe you thought it was a joke, or maybe you had true and genuine belief that it was an honest effort, but the meetings at saint benedict's have managed to stop some of the nightmares-- for now. but the whispers you hear tell you that your link to the afterlife remains... and you are forever in danger.
  

  

  @sugarvine

  THE ARCHIVIST

  
  your bookstore and record collection were haunted by a restless spirit of the old lady who owned the building before you. the damage done by the haunting was scarier for your bank account than your own mental health, you're sure, but the plagued memories kept you up and restless for some time before you sought some help. meeting at saint benedict's, you found the answers to your questions and could have otherwise moved on: you were affected by circumstance, not by any vengeful spirit. yet, for some reason, you have stayed. and by god, they can't get rid of you.
  

  

  @sugarvine

  THE NEW AGE ENTHUSIAST

  
  obsessed with the spirit, the self, and the plethora of crystals you keep on hand for immediate relief to anyone who asks, you are the very picture of the new age. a hippie, if anyone from the city asks-- but you are so deadset and determined in your profession and your beliefs that you are about as compelling as any scientist with a clipboard of data. perhaps you are a massage therapist, or an artist, but you hold your experiences and emotions to the same degree that a writer holds the pen to their hand, relying on the motion to deliver a story. whatever happened to you, be it spirit or demon, sent you reeling-- but your belief was strong enough that you defended yourself. curiosity, more than trauma, brought you to saint benedict's. above everything, and say what you will about catholics, but they bring the best snacks to these silly meetings.
  

  

  @sugarvine

  THE COP

  
  a current, or former, servant of the law, unfortunate circumstances led you down a path of dwindling belief. after a traumatic experience, something that could somehow only be explained by a spirit or a demon, you found yourself seeking some sort of support from saint benedict's. you didn't go so willingly, or maybe you did, but every meeting has been the best way for you to try and find some remedy to the pain in your heart; the grief, the horror. battling your inner thoughts, torn between someone so firmly placed in logical and realistic circumstances, and someone who had seen something too horrific to be answered by facts or science alone... you are in the middle. maybe not a real believer, a little skeptical... but still interested in what sort of things are out there. above all, you want to help people; that's compelling enough.
  

  

  @sugarvine

  THE RATIONALIST

  
  anything that happens to you, you explain it. compartmentalization could be your middle name, and dealing with problems is as simple as swallowing a pain killer. any kind of strife that's found you, you solve the problem. someone with a background ingrained in rational thinking, and doubt to everything in the world... it is a surprise that you would be affected so much by something you've already dealt with, right? it was something that you already had written off as a hysterical relative, or maybe a case of leaky pipes in a house or whatever it may be... but there's no way that ghosts or demons are real. yet, here you are in saint benedict's, listening to others who believe in it so whole heartedly. it seems ridiculous, and maybe you're amused more than you are curious... but you've stayed. perhaps the relationships made were worth it, if anything to just talk to someone... but you, more than anyone, will not be so willing to believe in someone saying 'the devil made me do it'.
  

  

  @sugarvine

  THE NUN

  
  taken
  
  brought up in a less than forgiving southern baptist family, the nun has forged her way to being someone better in the years since. devout but not naive, the nun is quite knowledgeable in things that most nuns would not be: demonology. always a little superstitious, and having come across some unexplained events, she's held it in her heart that the ills that have plagued her in life have been from the acts of demons. with a brief stint as a teacher in a catholic school drawing her into the priest's circle, the two of them lead the meetings in saint benedict's. she's the real mastermind behind the meeting plans, however.

  

  @sugarvine

  THE PRIEST

  
  taken
  
  a veteran of the korean war, the priest’s history is not one of a godly man. peace must be learned, negotiated and honed, with long hours of devotion in pursuit of betterment. demons, he learned, come to men in many guises; sins that follow from fathers to sons, self-inflicted by the darker human instinct, or the weight of one's misdeeds. studying exorcisms and christian ritual in the heart of rome, such performances of ancient practice soothed long-standing superstitions, placated victims, though revealed more than what a holy man wishes to imagine possible⁠⁠—harmless shadows, thumps in the night. young women eating fistfuls of their own hair. family pets found in sealed wall cavities. having been in the company of a sister whose eye for phenomena exceeded his, meetings within the community were the nun’s suggestion; yet not without the priest’s overt interest.
• cs guidelines

  1. as mentioned please, fcs are to be realistic/real. written descriptions with supplemental aesthetic/no face pictures are welcome as well, but keep it real as well (still no drawings, no anime).
  
  2. brought up in the ooc but I will mention it here, but characters should be older than 20 but can be whatever range. Whatever works and makes sense for your character to be traversing the country with a car full of near strangers.
  
  3. everyone needs to have (or claim to have had) some experience with ghosts/spirits/demons, etc. If you want ideas feel free to ask!
  
  4. give some weight to the sheets; these will be a reflection of the writing you intend to bring as well as your chance to give some voice for your chara. feel free to take your time with it all.
  
  5. as the roles are listed, if there are applicants for every role feel free to think out of the box. again, we will take 3 others that aren't in the roles if that becomes a thing.
  
  6. another reminder that this takes place in 1973, and thus things should be somewhat appropriate in your character's bio for the times and their occupations. plenty of wars to fight in, and plenty of cultural zeitgeists to cling to. tech references or tech included will reflect this.

01

02

03

 

[BELIAL.]

sister mary helen

# the nun

# jessica lange

♡coded by uxie♡

basics
name: mary helen green

nicknames: sister mary, sister mary helen

age: 33

p.o.b: town of baker, northern texas, usa

d.o.b: march 23

occupation: catholic nun, former teacher at Sisters of Perpetual Mercy catholic school in Tennessee

role: the nun

appearance
faceclaim: jessica lange

written description: thin and wiry, mary helen was always athletic. from morning to evening she'd be out of the house, either on her two legs or clambered on the back of someone's truck bed. she keeps her business into her later years, and with it the figure of someone who's run a long time. her blonde hair falls past her shoulders, but not by much, and is often drawn back into a braid, or tied up and away beneath a veil (at least in matters concerning work. she's not as particular about wearing her veil or habit in daily life). rather plain jane in her clothes, she dons simple dresses or skirts (always falling mid calf), and some form of blouse or cover for her arms. never seen without socks, even in the summer months, mary helen maintains an image of modesty. she finds relief in it, and comfort knowing that she doesn't have to worry about her appearance. her wide eyes are often crinkled into a smile, and her strong jaw holds form when she focuses.

height: five foot eight

tattoos/piercings/etc: closed up earring holes, and a scandalous stick and poke tattoo, faded and blown out over the years, on the back of her lower left hip of a crudely drawn sun. stupid memories.

personality
four pos traits: indignant, compassionate, organized, polite
four neg traits: passive-aggressive, curt, impatient, aloof

fears: failure, condemnation and a dismissal or worse-- excommunication.

wants: to provide evidence of ghosts and demons afflicting people and to provide greater support for those, to raise herself in the ranks as well

hobbies/interests: occultology, records, running/jogging fitness, baking, research, getting to know others

vices: an unrecognized dependence on painkillers for supposed migraines, overworking/workaholic

background
family members: reverend dixon green, brother, 45 ; reverend graham green, father, 72; pearl green, mother, deceased ; loretta green, step-mother, 42

equipment: a copy of the bible that she keeps on hand and everywhere she goes, personally marked up and dog-eared with love and attention. a pen-- you never know when you need to scribble the most important of things down on a napkin, or a paper. peppermint oil; a blot on the temples and under the nose clears up her habitual headaches, as well as being a reassuring smell to have on hand.

personal history: Born in Northern Texas to a staunchly Southern Baptist family, Mary Helen grew up to the smell of hay and vinegar. Vinegar being, of course, her mother's favourite thing to clean with. Hateful of most things full of chemicals, and most things in general. She was an older woman, who had by some miracle of God managed to pop two kids out despite the internal clock ever ticking as her own forty eighth birthday came when Mary Helen was born. Mary and Dixon's father, an up and coming pastor in their parish, was much younger in comparison. Full of much more drive and insatiable religious fervor, in some odd way he was the most positive force that either sibling got. Their mother was kept indoors often, sick from an upper respiratory infection that never went away really, and was a very jealous woman to the life that her children and husband were living.

In that side of the family, further rifts occurred. Dixon, who was much older, was the apple of his father's eye. His 'mini-me', in a sense, who was content to follow in his father's footsteps as far as the shadow would cast. Her brother was drafted for the war around this time, while Reverend Graham did whatever he could, in his able bodied state, to stay at home and command his parish. Mary Helen was a babe at the time, and when not pulling herself from her mother's arms, was being carted around at the church as some sort of showy cherub babe. The girl, barely six with scraped knees and a gap-toothed smile, much preferred the rest of the world to her family. Nights that were often filled with fighting, corporal punishment and prayer did not enthuse the child. Her faith in God never waned, despite the less than savoury experiences she was having, but she couldn't be sat down still enough to be reminded that suffering was good for the Lord.

She would wander down to the library often. Keeping company with the other children in their tiny town, in a city that didn't even have a zip code, was the only way that Mary Helen got any sense for the world around her. It inspired rebellion, try as their mother may to end such efforts. Her version of rebellion was exploration, was of enlightenment, and was to get as far away as possible from home as she could.

At thirteen she fancied herself a boyfriend, some transient from Dallas, and lived for the illicitness of it. He was nearly as young as she, not even fifteen, but he seemed to have more sense. He spoke of job security, of the car he'd been given by his father, and of the traveling he wanted to do. Fanciful speak, really, but Mary Helen was sunk. Her mother's illness ramped up around this time, reducing the spitfire of a woman to her bed, and her hateful words seemed to beat down harder and harder the sicker she got. She grew psychotic, demented from her fevers, and spat hate at anyone who came near. Maybe it was, in that moment, that Mary Helen saw past her mother's hateful guise to the tortured, insecure woman beneath. But she'd died the next day, after a particularly violent night. So Mary Helen left, climbing into the back of her boyfriend's pick-up and feeling the summer air split past her, happy that she'd left one final note to her family: Gone to start my own life. If we're lucky, you'll never see me again. May God keep me safe from your evil. Love, Mary Helen.

Things weren't as preferable once the town's twinkling lights faded into the distance. Her boyfriend's truths, once so enforced and relieving, began to slowly unravel. Her naivety, it appeared, had taken his fabricated gloats as truth. He'd run from home too, the car was stolen, and he was running from the law. They got into more than Mary Helen would like to admit, but it was enough that it sent her spiraling even further. Things that she'd regret years later, looking on as the innocence and stubbornness of youth, but nothing that she'd regard fondly.

Pulling herself together, finding herself at a crisis with God and her own image, she ran from her boyfriend too. By this time they'd gone North enough where sentiments weren't so strong, and by the time she found herself at a convent in Illinois, she was fully prepared to make amends with God and Jesus himself. It was a formal convent, and her novitiate period was spent reclaiming all that she'd lost. The sister there did a lot of community work, but after Mary Helen officially became a sister, she found herself feeling a little more right in the world.

The years after found her drifting within the convent, doing work here and there as outreach to the cities. She tutored a bit to some of the younger children, finding herself drawn toward the youth for the potential to mark good experiences; something that she'd found lacking. With Catholicism there was forgiveness, and it was a world of difference to the indefinite suffering she figured she'd live through with her family and her upbringing.

In the later sixties, Mary Helen transferred to a convent a bit more south, at a more secular parish. Away with the dogmatic rituals, the separation, and with it opened an even more new world to her. She preferred the more lax approach, finding it easier to communicate with people her age even, as well as the children, knowing that she wasn't always going to look like a penguin in her habit. Around this time she grew more interested in less... acceptable studies. Someone had spoken off-handed about an old lady in town who complained that a spirit had been following her since she was a nurse in France during the war, and that it had made her life hell ever since. Things going bad, things breaking, enough that she'd fallen down the stairs and broken her hip from the fear of it all.

It got Mary Helen thinking of the time that she'd spent with her boyfriend all those years ago, and the type of person that she'd been. Perhaps it had been a way of coping with the way that it had bruised her soul, or trying to make sense of why a child would cling to someone in such a way, or why a mother would treat their children so viciously, but she was convinced then and there that at some point or another, either a spirit or a demon had plagued her life. Safety in the convent had been an escape from it, but she could recount the odd tickle at the back of her neck whenever she left it. Though, equally-- the sister was sure she'd just made it up. There was never a way to know, but she was sure that something was watching her.

A few years ago she found herself at Sisters of Perpetual Mercy in Tennessee, and while it was a more rigid catholic structure, she thrived. Some of the other nuns there were a bit shady, it seemed, and held their own secrets. Only after a week there did Sister Mary first hear the knockings. It sounded like the walls were going to split from the inside out, then it would fade away to the trickling of knuckles on plaster, as if someone was merely trying to get her attention. Then things began to go missing. Then the children complained of hearing and seeing things in the art room.

Things escalated further when Sister Mary witnessed, first hand, one of the children bend her spine so far back that she'd touched the ground. The evil in the child's eyes was enough to convince her that it was not an act, or a performance... but the real thing. Her hobby of 'reading' about the occult became less of that and more research oriented, and with it the nun began to study. Her pleadings went unheard for some time, but Sister Mary did what she could to appeal. She went to the young girl's house, hoping to get some idea of home life and whether or not the girl was gripped from there...

But then she'd heard the whispers, while alone in the school's library. Louder than ever. She was sure then, in that moment, that issue was not with the child: but the school. Eventually, with enough yelling and near begging, she'd gotten her way. They sent a pair of men, exorcists who'd been trained at the Vatican, but Mary Helen hadn't left their side eitherway. Unprepared to give up the ghost, she stuck by through it all. What she saw would change her, more than any other bad thing that had ever happened, and would mark her for life.

Father August, one of them was named. They'd gotten on, finding camaraderie through the ordeal. It didn't take long before her urgings resulted in what would be the formation of a support group, with some minor support from their superiors. Still on a thin line, as it seemed-- Mary Helen on a short leash after the fuss she'd put up to get the demon exorcised from the school.

 

[idalie]

father august

# the priest

# ewan mcgregor

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[elytra]

Wayne Kelly

# the archivist

# billy crudup

♡coded by uxie♡

basics

name. Wayne Charles Kelly

nicknames.

age. 37

p.o.b. Lockport, Louisiana

d.o.b. March 3rd, 1936

occupation. Owner of A Story and a Song, an independently-run book and record shop; former local history librarian of Pineville, Louisiana

role. The Archivist


appearance

faceclaim. Billy Crudup

written description.

height. 5'11"

tattoos/piercings/etc.


personality

positive traits (4).
negative traits (4).

fears.

wants.

hobbies/interests.

vices.


background

family.

equipment.

personal history.

 

[erzulie]

FOR SOME A PROLOGUE
FOR SOME AN EPILOGUE.​

— DOSSIER

NAME: Dorothy Louise Honoré
NICKNAME: Dorothy-Lou , Doe
AGE: 24 years old
P.O.B: Natchitoches, Louisiana
D.O.B: January 25th
OCCUPATION: Aspiring Author & Journalist
ROLE: The Novelist

— VISAGE

FACECLAIM: Brenda Sykes.

HAIR: A head of wild curls that glistens in the sun, a brown so deep that only the light reveals its earth tone hues. The shape and texture holds all the similarities of a cloud.
EYES: Playful locks cover big, brown eyes as though playing a game of guess who. When brushed it reveals the gems underneath. They pop with the mascara that lines them. It’s funny how they draw attention yet remained vague. Sometimes she watches, shrewd and hawk-like behind those bangs of hers.
SKIN: Deep brown skin shines with the shea butter she was taught to use. Gentle hands guided hers until she was able to apply herself. She does so religiously, taking care of her skin meticulously each morning and night when she can.

HEIGHT: 5’7” | 153 cm
WEIGHT: 128 bs | 56 kg

BUILD: Tall and slender are the exact words to describe her physique. Her body speaks of one that had never known hard labor. There is a fragility to her that doesn’t seem to match the fire and drive in her eyes.


— PERSONA

PERSONALITY: Little Dorothy-Lou has a certain reputation around the town she grew up in. A sweet little thing with big brown eyes often hidden behind curls. A child who was not like the others, who kept her nose stuck in books and out of trouble. That reputation came with certain perks, even now. Dorothy has never been shy or timid, instead she’s quite the sneaky young woman. Trouble has a way of finding her and she has a way of engaging yet avoiding the consequences so far. Dorothy is careful with how she presents herself. Behind that modest clothing and big hair is an observant and ambitious young woman. She is not afraid to make others uncomfortable with her stories, her questions. Most would never expect someone like her to have a fire within and a smart mouth made for spitting flames. It’s true, what they say about the quiet ones. She uses her ability to blend in to her advantage, letting others look over her with no problem.

VIRTUES: Insightful, Persuasive, Humanitarian, Spiritual, Liberated
VICES: Characterless, Emotional, Restless, Calculating, Superstitious

FEARS: Dorothy is afraid of dogs after nearly being attacked by a loose pitbull. She had been visiting a cousin and they were playing outside when it came for them. She’s also scared of failure, that her mother’s words of doubt will be right and that she’ll never make her own path in life.
WANTS: Dorothy wants to become an accomplished author. She wants to be recognized for the hard work she’s put in. She also wants to be able to give a voice to those who can’t through her writing, the poor, the downtrodden, those who society readily throws away.
HOBBIES: Reading folklore & fantasy novels, Crocheting when she has the time, Scrapbooking, Journaling, Writing her family
BAD HABITS: Dorothy doesn’t do anything like smoking or drinking but she does pace when she’s upset. She also has a habit of biting her pens, it’s landed her with ink in her mouth a few times.

BACKGROUND: To the residents of Natchitoches Parish, their little hometown is nothing special. Unlike the bustling tourist filled city of New Orleans, there was nothing that made it unique. It was filled with families who had lived there for generations and thus the citizens knew one another well. Natchitoches was a place that people left in hopes of finding something better, as it seemed to be forever stuck in the past. Dorothy Honorè was one of those individuals who dreamed of leaving Natchitoches in search of something more.

But before that, she was the same as any child growing up in a small town. Little Dorothy was a quiet child who grew up under the care of two loving parents and grandparents. Her childhood consisted of sleepovers with cousins, playing until the street lights dimmed and the sound of her mama calling home. There was no little amount of love within her house. Older members made sure to teach the children that family was everything, that the love they shared was like no other. It took a village as the saying goes and there was none stronger than the Honoré family.

Dorothy was a quiet little thing growing up but she was not timid. No, she was the type of quiet that hides a sneaky character. Adults would praise little Dorothy-Lou for being a well behaved child. It was how she got away with being all up under them, listening with keen ears as they gossiped and spoke about matters not meant for her ears. Her mama knew better though and would scold her for being in grown folks mouths. She was a nosey being since the very beginning. To make matters worse, she was as blunt as any child. Dorothy had a habit of outright asking things that ought not to be asked or said.

Her habits were only quelled by her grandmother, Anette, who would sit Dorothy in her lap and tell her stories. From stories of her life to folk tales, it was then that Dorothy discovered her love for the spoken and written word. With attentive eyes and ears she gave her grandmother her full attention. Her love grew and turned into a passion that would follow her throughout the years. Much to her mother’s dismay Dorothy began to ask more questions. Though some couldn’t help but indulge her. Little Dorothy-Lou, with her notebook and pen in hand, speaking of her dreams of creating stories and giving a voice to others who had no other way of sharing.

It came as no surprise when she grew up and attended Southern University for Literature and Journalism. Dorothy spent her years working for her local paper. Years were spent working under others and not getting the chance to prove yourself, her work stolen because apparently she didn’t have the right “look” or enough experience to be given the recognition she deserved. She was told that her content was not the type of material that the targeted audience wanted to hear about.

It was during a family trip that Dorothy found the flier. Hope surged through her like an electrical current and she decided to take a chance. Her family could do little to stop her as she’d already made her decision. Saint Benedict’s Church held the key to her success, she was sure of it.

FAMILY MEMBERS:
Cecilia Agullaird neè Honoré - Dorothy’s stern yet loving mother. Cecilia is a Pediatrician & Midwife. Has her doubts about Dorothy and her career path. She wants the best for her daughter and so she wishes that she would have chosen a more financially stable career. Cecilia is a Southern University graduate.

Reginald Agullird - Cecilia’s husband and Dorothy’s stepfather. Reginald has treated Dorothy like his own since he started dating her mother. Though he tends to take her mother’s side when it comes down to it, he tries to ease the tension between them when he can. He met Cecilia at Southern University where he graduated as an Accounting Major.

Annette Honoré - Dorothy’s grandmother and biggest one supporter. Annette is the very person who helped Dorothy discover her love of reading and writing. A spiritual and wise woman who would tell her granddaughter stories from her times. Annette is sick but has stopped anyone from telling her granddaughter. Annette is a retired school teacher. She’s a practitioner of hoodoo and has passed the knowledge down to her daughter and granddaughter.

Ernest Honorè - Dorothy’s second biggest supporter. Ernest loves him dearly and has a weak spot for his granddaughter. Ernest is a veteran who was discharged after losing his leg and left eye.

Sebastian Aguillard - Reginald’s nephew and Dorothy cousin. Since the two of them are similar in age they played together a lot as kids. They refer to each other as siblings rather than step cousins. Sebastian is the quarterback for the New Orleans saints but has recently fallen into a bad crowd.

EQUIPMENT: Dorothy always has her messenger bag on her. Inside are numerous pens and a fresh notebook, as well her essentials like her ID and wallet that contains cash, her social security and driver’s license. Some none essential things include her favorite brand of chapstick, an afro-pick, hair pins, and a mojo bag given to her by her grandmother.

DOROTHY.

code by birth of venus.

 

[queendilettante]

Sophia Vassos
The Novelist

Nickname: Vass
Gender: Female (she/her)
Age: 26
Birthday: August 17, 1947 on Long Island, New York
Occupation: Novelist and Amateur Historian

Appearance
Height: 5’4

Build: A bit thin

Hair: Dark brown, almost black hair falls to between Sophia’s shoulder blades

Eye Color: Brown

Complexion: Tan and mostly clear. Hints of wrinkles have begun to show themselves under her eyes and around her mouth, though the latter only when she’s smoking.

Piercings/Tattoos: Sophia has both of her earlobes pierced. She doesn’t have any tattoos, as she’s too afraid of the pain.

Distinctive Physical Features:

• Sophia tends to keep fairly short fingernails. She breaks nails so frequently while digging through piles of old papers and books that she’s given up trying.​
• Hours spent reading and writing in dim light has strained Sophia’s eyes, leading to her need for reading glasses.​

Typical Clothing:
Sophia dresses in line with most of the women around her. Bell Bottom jeans, blouses with the top two or three buttons left undone, boots, and big, colorfully tinted sunglasses when outside. When it’s cold, Sophia wears a cropped leather or velvet jacket with a long collar.

Personality:

• Positive traits:
  
  • Sophia is incredibly motivated. When she sets her mind onto something she wants to do, she will not stop until she’s achieved it.
  • Sophia is outgoing and very friendly, always being willing to reach out and chat with even strangers. Stories are about and from people, so she’d be remiss not to seek out as many as she could.
  • By that same token, Sophia is really good at reading a room. She does her best to avoid making things awkward herself and can usually cut tension when someone else does.
  • Sophia is decently well traveled and is in no way a prejudiced person. She takes different people and cultures seriously, and so she’s always careful not to write people off for silly bias.
• Negative traits:
  
  • Sophia is too ambitious. She’s willing to neglect her health and relationships to learn and to make herself known.
  • Sophia would object to the idea that she’s “shallow,” though many people certainly wouldn’t. Perhaps more kindly phrased as “superficial,” Sophia’s care and concern for others often comes across as more transactional than genuine.
  • Along those lines, Sophia struggles to get truly close to people. She doesn’t object to the idea on its face, she’s just always preoccupied with something more important.
  • Legacy is a numbers game. Quantity over quality, be it people or stories has been Sophia’s approach to too much in her life.
• Fears:
  
  • Sophia is terrified of being forgotten. Writing, and her historical dives through abandoned and (rumored to be) haunted buildings, are the foundations of her legacy. The more she can expose and the more she can leave permanently etched into pages, the more of her there will be left for posterity.
  • More tangibly, Sophia is afraid of encountering something that she can’t handle. There’s a constant teetering between the need to prove herself, being known beyond her life, and getting in too deep and being left with a life unfinished.
• Wants:
  
  • Sophia doesn’t want celebrity insomuch as she craves due recognition.
  • Beyond her need to be known, Sophia wants answers to experiences she can’t explain from her childhood. Some kids aspire to be authors because of stories of princesses or heroes, but Sophia was drawn to horror. Horror always felt more real, especially after she first encountered a spirit at a campground for a family reunion.
• Hobbies/Interests:
  
  • Outside of the interests related to her work, Sophia really enjoys puzzles. Jigsaw, crossword, you name it, she’s probably doing it in her free time. She pays for multiple newspapers to get her crossword puzzle fix.
  • Sophia has also been really getting into cinema, but only when she can pull herself away from her other responsibilities long enough to go to the theater.
• Vices:
  
  • Sophia smokes almost a pack of cigarettes a day. She claims that it calms her nerves.
  • She plays the lottery every week and is somehow still convinced that she’s definitely going to win next time.

Equipment:

• Sophia has a journal and pen that she brings with her wherever she goes. She never knows when inspiration will strike or when she’ll see something extraordinary that she needs to write down.
• By that same token, she wears a camera on a strap around her neck. Sometimes it’s easier to snap a picture and write about it later than to try and jot down every detail that she’s trying to remember.
• For work she’s trying to publish, Sophia uses a typewriter, though she hardly ever carries that around with her.

Background:
Sophia was born to Greek immigrants who fled the war in Europe. Born and raised on Long Island, Sophia considers herself more New York than Greek, though she speaks Greek with her family at home. Her parents raised her Eastern Orthodox, and even though she’s found herself too busy to be as devout as they’d like, she still practices the religion when she can.

Her parents have owned and operated a little hole in the wall restaurant since before Sophia was born. She and her sister were both allowed to go to high school, in spite of their father’s objection to “female education”, but formal university study was a hard no. Sophia was made to help out at the restaurant full time upon graduation, but used her money to take classes in literature and history at local community colleges. Secretly, of course.

Family and Friends:

• Niko Vassos, Sophia’s father. He’s a hardass and does what he can to embody his ideal “man of the house,” though he’s drunk just a bit too much to achieve that.
• Katharine Vassos (née Leos), Sophia’s mother. The two have always been incredibly close, Sophia being the eldest daughter. She makes time out of every Sunday evening to have a conversation with her mom.
• Matthias Vassos, Sophia’s older brother. He’s taken after their father in all of the wrong ways. Sophia isn’t particularly close with him.
• Karissa Vassos, Sophia’s younger sister. Unmarried, like Sophia, the two have bonded over the weight of expectations pushed on them as women in the modern world.
• Alexei Vassos, Sophia’s youngest living sibling. Born years after the rest of them, Alexei is still in high school. Sophia only really goes out of her way to talk to him when visiting home.
• Ruth Myers is one of Sophia’s only real friends. They’ve been best friends since they were young children. Ruth is the only person Sophia will always make time for.
• Elizabeth Borowitz, like Ruth, is one of Sophia’s close friends. Ellie travels a lot and Sophia likes to go with her, often bunking together. They’ve grown close in the process.

Personal History:
Much to her parents’ chagrin, Sophia has always been attracted to the strange. Obsessed with horror novels, Sophia tore her way through everything spooky or strange that she could find at libraries and bookstores. It didn’t stop there, though. History, human culture itself, is filled to the brim with ghosts, ghouls, and monsters. People from across the planet, all separate, yet all with the same stories. It couldn’t possibly be all coincidence, could it?

Sophie began writing her own stories when she was still in primary school. She’d go to graveyards and would stay up late in the dark with her friends, hoping to find a way to contact the otherworldly entities she craved.

But no luck.

That was until she and her parents met up with cousins at a campground in North Jersey. She hadn’t met these people before and was honestly somewhat annoyed at the entire event; it was too loud and everyone was yelling about food that didn’t even taste good.

So, she snuck out. The main hall of the campground was a lot bigger than the area her family was using, and there were a lot of creepy rooms deeper inside. It was in one of those rooms where Sophia finally, at least as she understood it, encountered something truly supernatural. A woman, she thought, draped in rags and standing in shadow.

It was just a moment - one fleeting moment - but it was enough. She was sold.

It was no wonder she’d jumped on the posting for Saint Benedict’s meeting group when she first saw it. She didn’t mind that they were Catholic (though her parents certainly would). What mattered was that there were experiences there like hers. Real, authentic encounters with spirits.

It was the best material Sophia had ever found.


Photo Credit: Faceclaim, Aesthetic

 

[geminiy]

filler! ignore

filler! ignore

filler! ignore

filler! ignore

filler! ignore

• aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
• ....
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  isidra vega

  
  
  
  

  isidra vega

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  the ex-possessed.

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

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  the basics

  
  
  
  

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  name » mary isidra sofia vega
  nicknames » isidra (introduces herself by this name), isa
  age » thirty
  p.o.b » guerrero, mexico
  d.o.b » august nineteenth, nineteen forty three
  occupation » journalist
  role » the ex-possessed
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

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  isa is a force of nature, a being that naturally demands attention. she's considered by many to be beautiful, characterized by her sleek femininity and stunning features. standing at a very common 5'5'', isa isn't exactly the most physically intimidating person. however, her brown eyes have a habit of glistening in an overly powerful way, as if she sees everything going on around her all at once. every step isa takes is purposeful, another move towards the end of whatever goal she has. yes, isa physically seems in charge and confident, even when she has zero clue what she is doing. isa keeps herself maintained, both her career and personal preferences demanding a level of finesse and cleanliness. her dark hair is often kept in her natural curl, though she occasionally straightens it when the occasion calls for it. she isn't a fan of super bright colours or 'out there' fashion, particularly the remnants of the hippie movements of the '60s. isa prefers sleek and clean silhouettes, especially silk. she often sports a long beige coat and slightly heeled boots with just about any outfit, even the pencil skirts and blouses her job requires her to wear.
  
  faceclaim » eiza gonzalez
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

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  persona

  
  
  
  

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  positives
  witty » isa is incredibly smart and has a way of showing it without bragging. isa isn't the kind of know-it-all that has the desire to correct everyone and everything. instead, she uses her intelligence and charisma to work through difficult situations and to help the people around her. she also tends to be quite quippy and sarcastically funny.
  persuasive » arguing against isa is, historically, a really bad idea. logical and rational by nature, isa presents facts in a way that makes sense. outside of that, isa seems to be someone trustworthy and, paired with her flirtatious and charismatic disposition, she can easily persuade a large variety of people into giving her information.
  observant » very little gets past isa's constantly peering eyes. being a journalist, isa knows the importance of paying attention to the little things. what may go clear over other peoples heads' is glaringly obvious to isa. she also easily can track down information and patterns due to this skill.
  determined » when isa gets something in her head, either positive or negative, she will not let it go. when there is a goal, a job to be done, isa is the best person to ask to do it. nothing will deter her, save for a few very outlandish or unlikely scenarios. this is especially true when she works alone.
  
  negatives
  closed-off » isa doesn't like to talk about herself. she often deflects questions about herself when they're brought up, giving vague and half-assed answers in place of statements that would lead to further conversation. she is mostly afraid of letting people in and giving them ammunition against her.
  untrusting » as someone with an investigative mind and a critical heart, isa generally trusts very few people. information and opinions given to her are never received at face-value and require thought and questioning before she truly believes it. it isn't that she sees the people around her as intentionally untrustworthy, isa just understands how easy and enticing it is to lie to protect yourself.
  self-critical » everything isa does have to be perfect: every sentence, every action, every interaction. everything. isa's harshest critic is herself and, despite the fact that she never shares this openly, this puts a severe dampen on her respect for herself.
  pessimistic » the world is a cold and cruel place. isa knows this fact intimately. there are no silver-lined clouds in isa's sky, every glass has been poured to half-empty. there is no room for childish fantasy and rhetoric in isa's life. after all, that's how you get hurt. dreams are simply that: dreams, unrealistic ideas that will never be. life's goal is to make people suffer and that's that.
  
  fears
  » confined spaces
  » the afterlife
  
  wants
  » to free herself from the demon's grasp
  » to finally be rid of all the supernatural things plaguing her
  
  hobbies / interests
  » exploring underground / unknown shops
  » she loves chess
  » enjoys forensics and crime
  
  vices
  » smokes when anxious or thinking (which is quite frequent)
  » chronic pacer
  » rarely sleeps as much as she should
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

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  history
  isa, born mary isidra vega, was born to long-time residents mary dolores vega and martin vega sr. isa is the youngest of four children and lived in a very impoverished community in the centre of guerrero, mexico. being quite younger than her siblings, isa was almost raised as a single child as most of her siblings were already cultivating their lives as young adults by the time she was born. life in guerrero was difficult but not a terrible way to grow up. isa's formative years were spent around love and support, being taught by dedicated and hardworking people that the cards you are dealt are not the cards you have to play with for eternity. most of her childhood was spent alongside her mother, her father often working long hours or, for a long stint of time, was off participating in the second world war.
  
  when martin sr returned home, he returned home with enough cash and influence to secure a way into america. like many others, he wanted a better life and education for his remaining children. five year old isa, freshly entering school, could experience more of the world than her parents could have ever dreamed of. camila could continue her education and make her family proud. it was decided: the vegas, excluding martin jr, whom decided that america was a land of lies and abuse, and sara, whom had fallen in love with a local and had begun crafting her own life, would move to america.
  
  the vegas got settled in a small immigrant community in texas, living in a small two bedroom apartment. camila struggled to adapt to the american ways, the culture rocking her entire being. isa, however, had a much easier time. the two remained close as they began to adapt to their new life. martin sr began working several manufacturing jobs to make ends meet while mary dolores worked as a florist and devoted her free time to her family and volunteering in her community. overall, the vegas had a decent time of it all. isa enjoyed school and thrived academically, though socially she struggled well into her high school years. people annoyed isa and isa, in return, found out their secrets and annoyed them back. perhaps not the most effective way to make friends but isa didn't exactly care. she tended to march to the beat of her own drum, even if it was always slightly off beat. eventually though, isa settled in as one of the more popular kids in school due to a newly developed charisma and newly found skills of persuasion.
  
  during her junior year of high school, isa landed a volunteer role for her high school paper after being recommended by her english teacher. it was there that she found that her academic wit and investigative skills would make for a possibly fruitful career as a journalist. it was difficult, largely due to the racism and sexism in the field at the time, but isa had her mind set.
  
  first it was college, which isa was barred from. not a deterrent, isa knew that there was a roundabout way to get to where she needed to be. then it was working dead-end jobs for money while she wiggled her way into an intern position at a local newspaper. hell, the only reason she got the position was because of her swift bilingualism and lack of fear of the locals. the more she pushed, the more she worked, the better she got. she was eventually hired full time in her mid twenties, mostly due to her lying about her education. her work was outstanding and eventually, she was transferred to a large institution in dallas which was known for reporting on politics and the war.
  
  soon enough, isa had it all. she had the job and several accommodations for her incredible work, a group of supportive friends within the field, great connections with esteemed members of the community. everything isa ever could have dreamed of was at her fingertips.
  
  it all began shortly after. first it was strange headaches, blurs and shadows in isa's once sharp vision. doctors chalked them up to migraines. then it was the constant feeling of being watched, likely largely due to isa's newest report on corrupt politicians regarding the war. of course they'd send them after her, wanting to silence her work. nightmares followed, strange corrupt dreams showing violence, blood, her biggest fears. voices, shadows turning into more solid figures, endless fear and anxiety. her doctors called it hysteria, working too many hours without adequate rest, hydration, and nutrition. isa believed them even though the dreams continued to worsen.
  
  then, there was nothing. isa doesn't remember much except for pain and confusion, the feeling of being a prisoner in her own body. she remembered the smell of smoke and blood, the taste of alcohol on her breath and blood dripping on bathroom tile. then there was her sister and mother by her side, holding her thrashing body down. ropes were affixed to her ankles and wrists, pulled taught against tired bedposts.
  
  god. isa remembered the voice of god and the feeling of her soul shattering into a thousand pieces.
  
  there was silence. when isa came to, the ropes had mauled into her tanned wrists, leaving blood soaking the white bedsheets. her mother and sister were crying, the priest at the foot of her bed had his head hung as he muttered a long line of prayers. isa was thin, her skin littered with cuts and bruises she couldn't remember getting. something felt wrong, like there was an evilness clinging to her skin along the sweat and blood.
  
  the story went that isa had somehow found herself among the supernatural during one of her visits, cursed by someone for stepping a little too close to something a little too secret. someone had tied this... thing to her, a thing that the priest declared an evil spirit. it wasn't human, it wasn't demonic. it was simply something, something that isa didn't understand. somehow, it had taken over, haunting her at first before taking over isa's entire psyche. her actions were not her own and when her mother noticed something was off, she took isa on medical leave to her home. that was four months ago.
  
  the possession got worse. her words were spoken in a voice that didn't belong to her, tongues slipping from her lips that no one could understand. doctors said they were seizures and ordered isa to stay at home under the care of her mother. the medication didn't work, neither did the scans and injections and tests. eventually, her mother resorted to calling a priest whom, after several weeks of prayer and discussion with other members of the church, diagnosed isa with a good ol' possession.
  
  isa called bullshit. medicine brought her back to health after she was 'exorcised', not some priest. not god. medicine, fact, tangible proof.
  
  soon after, isa returned to work. she began to travel a lot for work, going from place to place to place. moving helped her feel normal, the disconnect from the world around her kept the fear at bay. she didn't believe she was possessed, or that the thing that had possessed her was still there like the priest said. sure, she still had nightmares and there were bouts of time where she felt violent or angry or downright out of control. smoking helped, along with long nighttime walks. she couldn't believe it, the idea that some entity had attached itself to her. it wasn't real, just some crazy fantasy or some weird medical mystery.
  
  isa's quality of writing declined, eventually leading her to get fired. she worked freelance for a while, chasing random leads down foolish rabbit holes. in one of these rabbit holes, she saw the flyer for the meeting at saint benedict's. isa was reluctant but showed up.
  
  the nightmares began to slow after a while, the fear began to subside. she's been going for a while now, settling down near the church and taking up digital journalism. isa still doesn't believe in god or the devil or the entities that seem to follow her. but she does believe in community and maybe that was all she needed.
  
  family
  mary dolores vega (mother, alive) » mary dolores is isa's number one supporter. a hardworking woman, mary dolores is very family oriented and is known in her community for her volunteer efforts. however, mary dolores's age is quickly sneaking up on her and isa has highly been considering quitting her job to care for her.
  martin vega sr (father, deceased) » martin and isa were never close, martin often working several jobs to make ends meet. he was also not present during a portion of her childhood due to the raging war overseas in which martin volunteered with the red cross as a medic in. martin died three years ago from a heart attack.
  martin vega jr (older brother, deceased) » martin jr and isa were very close for the first five or so years of her life. when mary dolores, martin sr, isa, and camila immigrated to america, martin jr and isa's eldest sister sara stayed behind in mexico. martin jr died when isa was thirteen in a car accident.
  sara vega (older sister, alive) » sara acted as a secondary mother to isa, leading them to have a tense relationship. mary delores, soft hearted and sweet, was often busy in the community to reprimand the overly observant and all too nosy isa when she got into trouble. sara, however, had no issue putting the baby of the family in her place. despite the tension, isa has a lot of respect for sara and was quite saddened when sara decided to stay in mexico when the vegas immigrated. sara now lives in mexico city with her husband and daughter.
  camila vega (youngest sister, alive) » camila is isa's closest sibling, mostly because they're only seven years apart. camila also went with isa and their parents to america. to this day, isa and camila meet regularly and are very close, isa seeing camila as one of her closest friends.
  
  equipment
  » you will never ever catch isa without some sort of item to record her thoughts, typically a tape recorder as well as a notebook / pencil
  » isa's been in some... questionable situations. for her own protection, isa carries a small knife which is disguised as a pen
  » identification is important to someone who spends their life digging around in other peoples' dirt. isa always has her wallet on her, part of which has a false pocket with several pieces of fake identification for getting into places she really doesn't belong. there are also several business cards, including her own, shoved in the slots between bills and coins.
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

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♡design by low fidelity, coded by uxie♡

 

[LeilaRF]

Linda Perhacs

Ted Prescott

R

equisite

name

Theodore 'Ted' Prescott

Nicknames

Teddy

Age

29 years

d.o.b.

April 22nd

P.O.B.

Mullens, West Virginia

Occupation

Former Deputy, Current Security Guard

Role

The Cop

A

ppearance

Faceclaim

James Spader

Written Description

Ted is tall, sporting an athletic physique and a slight paunch. His hair is a neatly combed dirty blonde that shines golden when catching the light. Eyes a subdued shade of blue- soft and gentle, yet often intense in their gaze- downturned and bearing dark circles underneath. He wears vision correcting glasses; round steel frames.

Height

6'1"

p

ersonality

Teddy Prescott since childhood has always been notably serious- never quiet, not calm nor collected, but always serious. His head usually stayed square on his shoulders and his words are always sincere, often to the point of bluntness. He always has had a firm moral compass, and an inherent sense of duty to protect and help others; a kind, unhurried man with a firm grip and a steady hand. Though tough and hot-headed at times, he has proven himself to be an intelligent person with a highly developed intuition.

STRENGTHS

Kind, Loyal, Intuitive, Earnest

WEAKNESSES

Hot-headed, Overbearing, Stubborn, Dependent

FEARS

Uncontrolled fire, being useless or helpless.

WANTS

At the end of the day, Ted wants to be helpful. He also wishes justice for his brother, but is less than optimistic about ever achieving it.

HOBBIES/INTERESTS

He loves to read, and has a nightly ritual of reading 15 pages of a book before sleeping. He also enjoys brain teasers such as sudoku and solitaire.

VICES

Tends to oversleep, and has a bit of a smoking habit

h

istory

Ted was born and raised in a small West Virginia town by his single mother Jane Prescott, as his father walked out to God knows where before he learned to speak. His half brother James was born about five years later. Ted loved his little brother more than anyone else. He was fiercely protective of him, practically leaping at any potential bully who would so much as look at him the wrong way. Ted was somewhat infamous for schoolyard fights in his adolescence, though better known for finishing them. Much to his mother’s frustration it was not uncommon for him to come home with a busted lip, black eye, nosebleed, or some combination of all of the above. He grew out of this of course, but his bond with his brother stayed strong throughout adulthood.

He naturally gravitated towards a career in law enforcement, and enrolled in training the day he turned eighteen. Although there was never much going on in the tiny town he worked in, his dedication helped allow him to climb the ladder to the position of Deputy within a couple years’ time. For the majority of his career, things were quiet and unassuming. Other than a speeding ticket or two here and there and the occasional unruly drunkard, nothing seemed to vex this town more than any other. That seemed to change around the spring of his 28th birthday, when strange, seemingly unrelated incidents began to occur surrounding an abandoned building that denied explanation- carcasses of animals turning up with no discernible cause of death, and a persistent smell of rot and burning that seemed to come from nowhere. People would often call the station claiming that they can see, hear, or smell the building catching fire, but when the firefighters were dispatched, they’d arrive to see that nothing was amiss. The presence of a dubious entity amongst the town was the last thing to cross anyone’s mind, and Ted and the police force eventually came to the conclusion that this was a classic case of group hysteria caused simply by rising levels of anxiety over current events.

Things came to a head one day when the office received yet another report of the abandoned building. They sent Ted on his own to check and make sure for the last time that it was nothing, but he arrived to see James standing drenched beyond the awning, a crooked, uncanny smile plastered on his face. He remembers vividly the stench of gasoline, the wild, inhuman look in his brother’s bloodshot eyes as he held a flickering match in trembling fingers. Ted tried desperately to reason, but all that left James’ mouth was garbled tongues that more closely resembled the spitting of an agitated rattlesnake than human speech. The scene rendered him frozen in horrified shock, so much so that all he could do was stare as the match left his hand and dropped to the floor, igniting the entirety of the building in flame.

His usual model of rationale and logic failed him- nothing could possibly explain away what had happened, at least nothing earthly, and it tore him apart. Only he and his mother could truly know that the person in that building was not James. He tried his best to make sense of what had happened; it soon turned into obsession, his workspace at the station becoming a mess of old files and news clippings in his desperate vain attempt at finding answers- anything to help explain what had happened to him and his brother, to bring him justice, or at least some kind of peace of mind. Soon enough, Ted was relieved of his duty, as it became increasingly clear to the office that his grief was blinding him and preventing him from properly doing his job. Or at least that’s what they told him. In truth, some seemed to be of the opinion that if his brother could go off his rocker so fast, who’s to say the same thing wouldn’t happen to Ted? This seemed to snap him back to reality somewhat. He decided to leave town- he felt that he had to get away from this place if he ever expected to properly heal. He left for a small town in Tennessee, which, by some stroke of divine luck, was home to Saint Benedict’s Church. He stumbled across the flier pinned neatly to the town center’s bulletin and was skeptical at first, but eventually caved. If there was anything that could help him make sense of things, he felt that he might as well go for it. Even after all the meetings he’s attended to date, he still isn’t sure what to believe, but he wants to help, and knowing that there are people out there with stories like his is reason enough for him.

FAMILY MEMBERS

Jane Prescott, Mother, 55
James Prescott, Brother, Deceased
Martin Prescott, Father, Unknown

EQUIPMENT

Flashlight, Handcuffs, Swiss Army Knife

g

allery

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[.V1LLAINISM._]

Richard “Richie” Warwick

# the rationalist

# 33

♡coded by uxie♡

basics
name: richard warwick;

nicknames: aka richie

age: 33

p.o.b: boston, massachusetts

d.o.b: february 13th

occupation: certified public accountant, financial advisor

role: the rationalist

appearance
faceclaim: edward norton

written description: tall and sinewy, in his early years, richie was once a feeble child. the kind of boy that just looked sick, the kind that the sun would never dare kiss, abandoning his ghostly skin and gaunt features, leaving him all alone. funny how the past seems to follow you, isn’t it?
now a dead man walking, all signs of life seem to evade him, a presence framed only by dark, hollow eyes and quirked eyebrows. skeletal in every sense of the word, richie never quite possessed a large appetite, nor the need to flaunt his physical prowess, providing him his lanky and wiry build. his hair however, remains one of his most prominent features- disheveled locks maintaining the single piece of vibrancy in an otherwise grim and lacklustre appearance; coloured like sweet flecks of chocolate, an image reminiscent of boyhood. his eyes are often mistaken as lifeless black voids, yet, beyond the ashen borders of the surrounding flesh, seem to match the dark blue veins that reflect so brightly under the fluorescent lights. he’s got the eyes of his mother.

often dressed like a corporate jockey, however lackadaisical richard may appear, he makes it a point to follow the etiquette of his 9 to 5 office job, cool and crisp shirts paired with carefully-ironed bottoms and polished dress shoes. some days he’ll even throw on a tie.

height: six foot even

tattoos/piercings/etc: a very faint scar on the right of his temple, faded with time and with age, telling a story he hardly even remembers anymore or perhaps, wishes to forget

personality

debrief: the whir of fluorescent lights, the smell of coffee permeating through stale morning air, the crisp white sheets that line his desk, this is how everyday begins. bleak, dreary, like a fog that never subsides. and If you asked him if there was any more to life he’d roll his eyes, tell you to get back to work before returning to his own, head held low to hide the doubts that catch in the light.
“he does what he needs to do,” his mother whispered one night, a conversation that wasn’t meant to be heard “that’s how he’s always been.”
head held low and tail between his legs, richie is a slave to the mundane, to everything that is expected of him, having killed his thirst for life long ago and replaced it with something cold, a passive temperament and eyes that seem to haunt those that walk past. a recluse in his own right, he offers little sentimentality and is thoroughly direct, seldom cautious, always point-blank in his vernacular . cursed with a sharp tongue and an accent that makes him sound even more insulting, at the end of each day, richie strives for simplicity, for peace, for white and for black; with no desire to leave others in a mystery and loathing the conjecture himself.

a quiet man with a quiet life- few passions and even fewer friends, it’s no wonder he’s so bitter. but then again, after not sleeping for the past three weeks, who wouldn’t be?

His eyes shoot open.
She’s back.
Oh god she’s back.

four pos traits: rational, quick-witted, dependable, level-headed, particular
four neg traits: pessimistic, sarcastic, bull-headed, dismissive, stern

fears: to spiral mentally- lose his mind and himself entirely and slip away from reality, that’s what frightens him the most

wants: if there’s anything richie wants, now more than ever, it’s to finally get a good night’s rest, control what his mind can’t and get the- whatever these things are to stop bothering him

hobbies/interests: documentaries and encyclopedias, late-night game shows, insects and anatomy, his cat chester and the occasional museum visit

vices: a dependance that he’s trying to quit, the smell of ash and smoke often stain his fingers. he learned somewhere that 1 in 5 americans die from smoking every year, still, he can’t help but be just as stupid. stupid, he knows, and yet it gets worse. The recent relapse of insomnia renders him useless, frightened when he shouldn’t be and especially nippy when the sun rises. he hates feeling like this, hates feeling like he’s lost all stability, all cognitive function. so, he did what any person does, he went to the doctor. flash forward even more sleepless nights, strange apparitions and blood-curdling nightmares, richie’s now reliant on prescribed and unprescribed medications, trying to shut his brain down for just a few hours. a force of habit, even though they rarely work.

background
family members: dottie warwick, mother, deceased ; edward warwick, 68, estranged father ; philip donoghue 61, uncle ; chester, cat, ? allegedly 2 years old

equipment:

WIPPP

personal history:

(small WIP)

control. it’s all anyone wants and yet, rarely is it ever bestowed, gifted unto the hands that need it most, to the vulnerable quivering with fear. he learned long ago that normalcy, that control came from the predictable- grim environments that bear little frivolity. so he became an accountant, began leading life as if it was already over, days blending into nights, weeks into months and he was alright, found comfort in it all. because as long as richard had

 

[aeneas.]

cherry fairchild

# the new age enthusiast

# farrah fawcett

♡coded by uxie♡

✿ 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏'𝙎 𝘼𝙇𝙍𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏, 𝙇𝙀𝙏'𝙎 𝙅𝙐𝙎𝙏 𝙆𝙀𝙀𝙋 𝙄𝙏 𝙂𝙍𝙊𝙊𝙑𝙔 𝘽𝘼𝘽𝙔!

NAME: Cherry Fairchild.
NICKNAMES: Friends call her Cher and *slightly* condescending neighbors sometimes call her Ms. Sunshine.
AGE: Just turned 30 years old but doesn't look a day over 25.
P.O.B: Peachtree City, Georgia.
D.O.B: August 17.
OCCUPATION: Proud owner of the naturalist corner shop down the street, "Forever Strawberry Fields" (yes, named after the Beatles song)
ROLE: The New Age Enthusiast.

FACECLAIM: Farrah Fawcett.
APPEARANCE: Shaggy-cut blonde hair, sunkissed skin, and blue eyes—Cherry is a mint condition Barbie doll right out of the box. Don't ask for her beauty secrets because she'll never tell (not unless you were a paying customer, then she will try to sell you a few bottles in the store—discount included!) Her exterior matches her interior to a T, with absolutely nothing to hide in the eyes of the public, never daring to shy away from how she groomed herself. Often dressed in bright colors and florals, paired with a darling smile. As she laughs and sways her mane bounces and follows with her, the lightness of her eyes is almost blinding on days she was particularly joyful, and she had a kick to her step every morning like she knew she was destined for nothing but clear blue skies. Long-legged with a confident posture, she's the kind of gal bar-goers needed a couple of pints of liquid courage before shooting their shot. Blondes have more fun as they say and from looks alone, Cherry has had her fair share of fun. A golden girl in a rusty world.
HEIGHT: 5'8".
MISC: She may or may not have a tramp stamp of a daisy chain she got when she was young and drunk but besides it, she's kept her body mods as tame as two lobe piercings!

✿ PERSONA
A real good time to be around is what Ms. Sunshine is. However, don't let her giggles and charm make you think she's just a pretty face to ogle at; she may have her ditzy moments of impulse but at the end of the day she is a woman of determination. Possessing an almost hypnotic level of charisma that can make the most critical of skeptics bend over backward for her new-age beliefs. Usually overlooked as your standard dumb blonde, it's almost like she has a level of *strategy* within her actions as a little ol' business owner. Cherry Fairchild has seen the hand of cards she has been dealt and plays them to obtain all the chips on the table. Despite her smiles and bubbling laughter, her eyes are critical, she knows how to read the room and the people she surrounds herself with. Very attuned to emotions, it's like a sixth sense whenever she rubs the shoulders of a stranger who's having a bad day. She's a dream chaser, what she envisions for herself is what she's aiming to achieve. But that doesn't mean she's not a sweetheart! Her passions lie in kindness to the point she could be seen as airheaded—faithful first, doubtful later. Just don't step on her toes and she won't slam her heels on yours.
POSITIVE

✿ Light-hearted, Charismatic, Bold, People-Person.​

NEGATIVE

✿ Stubborn, Impulsive, Gullible, Tunnel-visioned.​

FEARS

✿ Cherry does not fuck with insects. Or any multi-legged bug that could be crawling within the cracks between cupboards and cracks. The sight of one too many ants alone could send her into a hysteric screaming fit. ​

✿ From the environment she grew up in, she never liked the look of scarecrows. Always too real-looking for her taste, seemingly staring at her through hollow eyes of painted straw. ​

WANTS

✿ Despite her persona, would it be wrong for her to be taken more seriously? Her beliefs have a weight of truth and genuine faith and she's beginning to tire over feigned listening and looks of doubt. ​

✿ In her heart of hearts, Cherry is one who is in constant seek of enlightenment. The universe is an ever-expanding landscape and the Earth held secrets and mysteries she wished to uncover to the best ability. She desires adventure and experience—an adult field trip if you will!​

✿ Sleazebags swerve into her life more than she'd like and admittedly, Cherry lacked a crowd beside the single moms and beer-belly drunks. Yeah, it was a religious support group on the supernatural, but it was better than nothing. ​

HOBBIES

A lot of arts and crafts, painting, knitting, crocheting, and handicraft making. You know for a fact she makes macrame friendship bracelets for her new group of pals. She also knows how to make an amazing apple crumble and is not too shabby in other treats. ​

INTERESTS

"Standard hippie shit" as her pesky neighbors would call it. Cherry has an affinity for astrology, crystals, and flowers. Flora and fauna especially—she does have a bachelor's degree in environmental health after all. Additionally, she is *a bit* of a horror buff but she likes to keep that as more of a guilty pleasure.​

VICES

✿ Can be labeled as an adrenaline junkie. She loves the thrill of danger and the feeling of her heart pounding against her chest. She'll never turn down a rollercoaster ride.​

✿ Some may argue that she can be rather manipulative, choosing selective phrasing, and doing certain poses and looks—a good enough actress to be on the big screen. It's just her way of getting what she wants.​

✿ BACKGROUND
Before Cherry Fairchild came rolling into town with a trail of daisies and peace signs, Madaline Hawthorne roamed the large plot of land of her daddy's property back in Peachtree. The youngest daughter of the family with an imagination too big for her frail shoulders. Her father was a more than wealthy man, the owner of a reliable law firm that had been in the Hawthorne family for generations. If there were a handful of things that needed to be known before meeting the Hawthornes it would be the following:

One, the Hawthorne name was ancient, and to preserve was the heart of interest to the family. Being around since the very building of their spot in Georgia meant that every room, nook, and cranny was once walked and lived in before her. Many lived and lost within the walls of the estate and many still resided—living and in-between.

Two, there were rules and systems in place. Never stray off the path if you didn't wish to be lost among the forestry outside the property. Curfew was 8 o'clock sharp and that meant all of the lights had to be shut off. No roaming outside your room past that unless it was absolutely necessary. The Hawthorne family—Petunia Hawthorne specifically was the matriarch that ruled with an iron fist, conservative in nature, and demanded order. Everyone had a role in their play and it was expected that they'd execute their roles to the T.

And three, bite your tongue. Restraint was a virtue and respect was demanded from the heads of the house. Speak when spoken to and know your place. In their home, there was a hierarchy to be acknowledged and respected at all times.

From the handful alone, it's clear to anyone that Madaline didn't quite fit into the Hawthorne puzzle—a piece somehow put into the box but wasn't meant to be. Her childhood was paved with corporal punishment, slaps against the hands, and meals skipped whenever she gave her mother a silly look or returned inside with her dress soiled in mud. A black sheep who barely found solace within her own home.

She knew from age ten that she wanted to leave and never look back.

Madaline had always had an affinity for the strange and unusual. In an old house like the Hawthorne estate, many weird occurrences happened without any explanation. A young Madaline found adventure and a growing curiosity in it than she did fear. Rather than running from bumps in the night and the trail of lights turning on past curfew, she investigated the sound and followed the path. It came to a point where she began believing it to be the cause of spirits. Her family chalked it all up to a wild imagination and imaginary friends any young girl cooped in her home would come up with.

However, Madaline never grew out of it. Her wild imagination stayed free-roaming and her imaginary friends were still very much around. By the time she prepared for college instead of shying away from her interests, she embraced them. Moving out and never looking back—just like she dreamed. Come graduation, her family was never sent an invitation and by the time worry began to settle, Madaline disappeared off of the face of the earth.

Cherry Fairchild quickly took her place on a one-way ticket to Tennessee. From there she completely reinvented herself and opened a corner shop to sell crystals, oils, and other natural goods for other free-spirited believers like herself. And it was purely out of luck she heard of the little supernatural get-together at St. Benedict's Church. Gossiping customers were the best kind, she supposed and it sounded like an amazing time.
FAMILY TREE

✿ Jeremiah Hawthorne - Cherry's father with pockets full of cash. Despite how busy he was, Jeremiah played favorites and held a lot of love for his youngest daughter. Always willing to play into her "wild imagination" of imaginary friends and odd practices. It took a lot of self-restraint to not come back when she got the news of her father being bedridden with a failing heart, but she knew she'd never leave if she turned back. From what she knows, he's stable but they all know better of the impending trials of time.​

✿ Petunia Hawthorne - Less of a mother and more of a lurking shadow with an ability to smack at her wrists whenever Cherry fell out of line. She passed the way everyone expected her to—screams that echo the halls of the grand property to this day. Her legs had given way to the crippling pains of old age, allowing her to fall into the flight of stairs of the Hawthorne estate while her husband was at work and her children were out of the home. By the time the maids found her, there wasn't much a hospital could do. ​

✿ Matthew Hawthorne - The eldest sibling of the Hawthorne children and the spitting image of their mother—an absolute no-nonsense hardass. With how busy their father was, Matthew became a pseudo-father figure for the other Hawthorne. The last Cherry heard, he has taken over their father's business and now owns the property, not like it all really matters to her anyway.​

✿ Cassandra Hawthorne - Golden hair and golden child, Cassandra represented everything Cherry was expected to be. The eldest (and only) sister. The two had an... interesting relationship to say the least. Cherry carried a lot of resentment towards Cassandra during her younger years but she has learned to look past that.​

✿ Orson Hawthorne - Cherry's chaperone whenever she wished to adventure beyond the family property. He is the second brother whose main responsibility in childhood was to watch over the two younger Hawthorne children whenever Matthew and Cassandra ran errands. ​

✿ Jasper Hawthorne - By far Cherry's closest sibling simply because of their one-year age gap. The two spent almost their entire childhood together and even went to the same college. He is the only one out of the Hawthorne family to still has contact with Cherry—the two still send each other letters from time to time. Jasper is still working under his family, helping them maintain the family business. ​

EQUIPMENT

✿ A bag of crystals - Just a little spring pouch of travel-sized crystals she has on her person for good luck. A small five-stone variety of amethyst, rose quartz, jade, black tourmaline, and citrine.​

✿ Compact mirror - A needed essential for every outgoing person like Cherry. Public bathroom mirrors have always given her odd energy (was that a figure in the corner of her eye?) and a mirror on the go is just her style.​

✿ Bobby pins - Believe it or not, a bobby pin can be the make-it-or-break-it moment for a hair disaster *or* master key if you knew how to use it right. Cherry always carried a handful just in case for either situation. ​

 

[Ha_lfLife]

John Ashley Hayes

# the charity case

# bill skarsgård

♡coded by uxie♡

♡coded by uxie♡

basics

name: John Ashley Hayes

nicknames: “Hair-trigger” Hayes (fellow incarcerates, Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary); Sweet Baby Boy, Ashley, Ashy Baby (Norma Theresa Hayes, Hayes’s mom)

age: 36

p.o.b: Kingsport, Tennessee, USA

d.o.b: July 07, 1937

occupation: Driver, Mover, Repairman, General Laborer

role: the Charity Case (conditional release)

appearance

faceclaim: Bill Skarsgård

written description: Hayes’s momma always said he was just born big, so it wasn’t much of a surprise to her that Johnny shot up well past six foot by the age of 11. His daddy was tall, too, as was his big brother, Isaac. As for the build to go along with it, Hayes didn’t have much to add. He was always skinny, a topic of endless fretting to his poor mother, who always complained he needed to eat more despite there not being a goddamn lick of food in the house for half his life. He bulked up a little in prison, endless days sledgehammering slate under a blistering sun giving him a farmer’s tan so drastic it ended up being permanent. Hayes always grumbled that he drew the short stick when it came to looks, especially compared to his brother, who could get the arm of any girl he wanted just by smiling at her. Johnny, comparatively, had a reptilian quality to his features that were always just a bit off-putting. He nonetheless had a nice smile, if he ever managed to show it authentically. His dress is simple and utilitarian, preferring to wear cotton tees, work shirts, or coveralls, and worn down work boots. Fashion trends were a privilege of folks who weren’t dirt poor, so Hayes never even entertained the idea of owning a pair of Levi’s or Chucks. He wears dogtags on an inornate aluminum chain always.

height: 6'4"

tattoos/piercings/etc: Most of Hayes’s top half is covered in tattoos, a product of the blossoming popularity of motorized single-needle machines popping up in prisons during the decade prior. One arm has a mural of a top-bare mermaid on a rock in the sea who he calls "Misty"; the other arm hosts a skimpily-clad sailor girl named "Angelica" rocking back on an anchor. Almost all of his back is covered with a picture of the Virgin Mother, arms held together in prayer and eyes looking up hopefully (he’s not Catholic, he just liked the look of her). A cross on his chest, a falcon flying across one side of his neck, a copperhead slithering up a forearm, and a crudely scribbled “Semper Fucking Fi” right on top of his sternum. Most of them don’t mean nothing, except for standing as a testament to how much free time he had on his hands at Brushy Mountain.

personality

four pos traits: Fearless, Practical, Street-Smart, Protective
four neg traits: Short-Tempered, Uneducated, Crude, Untrustworthy

fears: Being abandoned, bodies of water (can't swim)

wants: 1) a cigarette, 2) a Pepsi

hobbies/interests: fixing up cars, playing cards, gambling, petting good dogs

vices: smoking like a goddamn chimney, placing bets

background

family members: Johnny Hayes, Sr. (Father, since deceased), Norma Hayes (Mother), Isaac Hayes (Brother, since deceased), Virginia “Ginny” Hayes (Sister)

equipment: Switchblade (don’t tell his parole officer), his Left Fist ("Misty"), and his Right Fist ("Angelica")

personal history: John Ashley Hayes was born in the back of his parents’ two-bedroom shack in Kingsport, Tennessee in the middle of a stickily humid night in July, 1937. He was preceded two years earlier by his brother, Isaac Thomas, and three years later, his sister followed. His dad, only twenty when Johnny was born, got shipped off to Germany in 1943 and returned a mean bastard. Returning to his job at the sawmill in town, the largest (and probably only) employer of men in Kingsport, it only took Johnny Sr. four more years before the drinking and short temper found him getting his ugly ass kicked to the curb. The family went on the dole, a source of income that was consistently abused by Johnny Sr., who would squander it as soon as it came on nights at the town bar downing fifths of whiskey and betting on fighting dogs. In other words, John Ashley grew up poor as shit and without a goddamn chance in the world. He and his brother and sister would start off in the morning dark to meet the bus at the nearest thoroughfare, a couple miles through farmlands, to go to school; their momma was a right hard-ass about their homework, harping every night that “a good education is the only thing that’ll keep you from winding up like y’all’s daddy”. Well, Ginny gave the whole school schtick a good try, but Johnny and Isaac found themselves playing hookie by the time they were in sixth and eighth grade respectively, a habit that grew until they accumulated more absences than attendances. On those long days of sweet freedom, the brothers would walk the fives miles into the microscopic downtown of Kingsport, lifting cigarettes and snacks from the convenience store, sneak into movies, and hanging around the high school kids who’d had the same plans. Hanging out under the hood of Scott Priestley’s F-Series and offering an open hand in exchange for the older kids letting him hang out with them, Johnny picked up a damn impressive understanding of how to fix up even the most hopeless rust bucket cars and trucks.

Hayes damn well didn’t finish high school, abandoning the idea of going back to the decaying school altogether by the time he was fifteen. He got a job with the local auto garage, owned by Scott Priestley’s dad, and started making his own cash by the age of sixteen. Pooled together with his brother’s wages from the same damn sawmill their Old Man got kicked from, the two were able to keep their family afloat while their dad rotted drunk in the backroom. By twenty, Hayes had saved enough pocket change to pick up a Chevy 3804 from a junkyard and get her running again. With his mom and sister fed, a truck of his own, and a damn steady job, it seemed by 1960 that things were gonna turn out peachy for Johnny.

How he went from the good life to Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary in the summer of 1961 ain’t all that important, at least that’s what he always says. Hell, his momma had worried since the Sullivan County sheriff started a-calling that her son was caught stealing back in the early ‘50s. But she always figured if her sweet boy got put away for anything, it would be something like writing a bad check or taking something that didn’t belong to him. But she knew, just like his cellmates did down in Block C that Johnny had put a shotgun in the mouth of some poor sap in Johnson City and pulled the trigger. Isaac had stayed on the straight and narrow, but still called on his brother in prison, until the flip of a coin had Isaac staring down a draft card in 1966. He left for the rice fields with a bunch of other poor saps who hadn’t signed up for their fate and, like so many of them, didn’t come back.

Hayes should’ve spent a hell of a lot longer in his cellblock than he did. With only 12 years of a life sentence served, Johnny in 1973 came into what one would describe as some goddamn good luck. First came the suspension of the death penalty in 1972, which left shitholes like Brushy Mountain scrambling with what to do with men who turned out would be around a lot longer than anticipated; and second was the labor strike of Brushy Mountain’s prison guards that was so damn destructive that the whole prison had to close and figure how to ship off hundreds of inmates to other prisons that were already bursting at the seams. For Johnny, and dozens other, this meant a reassessment of his terms of imprisonment. Considering his uneventful behavior during his time behind bars, in addition to some new narrative on the crime in question, Hayes was let out of the joint on a certain set of terms. His parole would continue for the next ten years under the supervision of one of a list of re-integrative programs, accompanied by frequent calls in to his parole officer. Though he wasn’t promised any kind of pay aside from the organization’s promise to keep him fed and clothed, Johnny vied for a spot with Saint Benedict’s singularly for the offer of additional pay. Never mind that he lied his way into the gig, signing a cross over his chest and professing to be a Catholic (he was not) and that he himself had had plenty of run-ins with spirits of all kinds (he hadn’t).