lottie-rcss

[lottie-rcss]

She’s in dire need of caffeine, and even her adopted New York snobbery can admit the Prickly Perk is decent enough. Lottie’s deep in her inbox, waiting for something with enough caffeine to take out a small child when she hears her name coming from the wrong direction. It takes her half a second to place him – Colton, still possessing that tough guy exterior she knows hides a soft underbelly of emotion. She liked playing with him once upon a time – sneaking him in through her bedroom window and deliberately ignoring him in school hallways.

“Hi Colton,” her coffee arrives, and she takes a sip, “I’ve been in New York since college, remember?”

location: prickly perk closed starter with: @lottie-rcss

Colton stepped into the Prickly Perk, the rich aroma of coffee filling the air. Just what he needed to kickstart the day. But as he moved toward the counter, he spotted Lottie.

Great. Just what I wanted.

“Lottie.”

Awkward. Really awkward. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the weight of their shared past.

“Been a while, huh? Small town, small circles. You’d think we’d run into each other more often.”

Why in the hell did I say that? He felt the tension in the air, waiting for her to respond.

[lottie-rcss]

Olivia Cooke as ALICENT HIGHTOWER House of the Dragon — 1.07: Driftmark

[lottie-rcss]

She deliberately does not look back at him as she finishes her phone call, she doesn’t need him for this – she doesn’t need anyone. She’s Charlotte fucking Ross, she got this position on her own ( minus the teensiest bit of nepotism, hardly counts ) and influenced an entire multinational corporation into taking over the wasteland that is her hometown – she doesn’t need his validation.

But she likes the way he looks at her, as if he sees the lies and truth in her body and still goes along with whatever she says – that knowing glance just enough to keep her hooked. “Oh, nothing major,” Lottie smiles another cheshire cat grin, leaning in closer as if sharing a particularly juicy secret. “There’s only so much learning curve tolerated when it comes to nepotism.” Let the record reflect that Lottie hates the use of passive voice in the previous sentence. However, corporate bullshit makes monsters of us all. “It will all be resolved come morning, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ve got much more interesting things to share?” That smile promises multitudes as Lottie takes another sip of her drink.

the bar is boisterous. loud, in ways that a bar never should have been. at least, not bars that Lucien favored. or frequented. until he'd found himself in Paxton. forced to brush elbows with those that had likely never known such things in life. the simplicity of a well established bar that had standards. there is no drowning it out, the noises of those that flock to the establishment. that find humor and fun in the childish games that the bar offers. if it weren't for the drink before him, Lucien may have not held his temper in check. may have found cause to offer up a word or two to those that grated against his patience.

and then she returned. with a lie upon her tongue. she could offer him whichever smile she had in her arsenal. but a liar always recognized one like themself. "spot of trouble, then?" his gaze shifted to her phone, before he gave a quick nod to it. there had been a partnership, of sorts. an understanding that had formed between them. some might call them allies. others, perhaps, would note them as friends.

[lottie-rcss]

“You forget that I grew up here.” She laughs and it's lovely and low, attracting the passing attention of several patrons around them despite the current of underlying cruelty. Lottie continues, voice soft enough for Lindsey alone. “It doesn’t matter how visible and personable you are – small towns are just like the rest of the world, it's all about who you know and looking the part.” She leans back, smile intact as if they are the closest friends sharing a bit of fun gossip, or maybe plans for latter. Dark eyes drift up and down her fellow board member’s outfit – too east coast, too clearly moneyed, maybe later if she feels generous, Lottie will offer a few suggestions. Instead – she needs another drink.

“Tequila soda, pretty please,” she’s switching tactics and drinks, smiling at the newer bartender then canting her head to the side. “You know, you look so familiar –“ her voice is more honeyed, a warmer, richer tone than she uses for business, and she taps a manicured finger against her nose as if remembering. Time to see what Queen Bee Lottie can pull off. “Are you Libby Mitchell’s little brother? Jackson?” He lights up at the recognition, the slightest flush painting his cheeks as he realizes who she is. “Charlotte Ross, they said you went to New York.” She smiles over at Lindsey playfully as he pours them both drinks, rambling on and on about his sister and how he used to have such a crush on Lottie when he was a freshman and she was a senior ( who didn’t ).

“It was so great to see you –“ she cuts him off after a moment, sliding cash across the bar as she gathers up their drinks. “Please tell your sister I said hello.” Mercifully he gets the hint, or maybe he’s still a bit afraid of her in the way all teenage boys feared their big sister’s hot friends. That, and rest of the bar was several people deep waiting for service. Lottie shrugs at Lindsey, taking a sip of her drink. “Like I said.”

Lindsey stifled a smile, gaze meeting Charlotte's over the edge of her raised wine glass. The other Chief Officer was, in her opinion, rough around the edges. It was clear that Charlotte Ross was brilliant and talented, but unlike Lindsey, who trafficked in dulcet tones and soft touches, Charlotte's public persona seemed to lean a bit more heavily on the side of powerful and in charge.

"Nothing of import," Lindsey replied when Charlotte's attention had returned to her. She waved away the apology with one hand, her gaze taking in their surroundings. "I was simply noting that it's good practice for us to be out in the town like this. More visible. More personable, if you will."

[lottie-rcss]

OLIVIA COOKE Press play | Soho House

[lottie-rcss]

who: Lottie & open where: the backyard bus

“I don’t care what time is in New York, when I ask you to do something, I expect it done.” Lottie speaks into her phone in that lilting cadence she’s adopted since leaving this ghost town the first time, the only sign of her annoyance the tiny pucker between her brows. “Well then wake them up.” She closes her eyes, tapping her ring against her glass of shitty gin – god she forgot all anyone drinks around here is whiskey or fucking moonshine. What a goddamn cliché. Lottie sighs, glancing back at the lights of the bar she's walked far enough away from as to not be overheard. “I’m hanging up now, you have until 6am my time.” She misses the drama of being able to slam a flip phone shut – fuck, now she was getting nostalgic for high school? She downs the rest of her cocktail and walks back to the bar.

“Sorry,” she’s not, but that dazzling smile is distracting enough to be convincing. Flagging down the bartender, her attention returns. “What were you saying?”

[lottie-rcss]

the cpr - charlotte ross

ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Name: Charlotte Eloise Ross  

Nicknames:  Lottie, Lots, Charlie ( only by her father )

Birthday: June 26, 1988

Place of Birth: Paxton, AZ

Places Lived Since: New York City, a semester in London

Current Residence: Paxton, AZ ( unfortunately )

Notable Family Members: Michael Ross ( father, former rancher, deceased ); Caroline Carter Ross ( mother, estranged ); Josephine Carter nee Getty ( grandmother, close ); Everett Carter ( grandfather, adores )

PHYSICAL:

Faceclaim: Olivia Cooke

Height: 5’5

Hair Color: dark red

Eye Color: dark brown

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: several rings, multiple piercings in both ears, tiny hidden tattoos

Unique Mannerisms/Physical Habits: playing with her rings, air of superiority, being cruel for sport

PERSONALITY:

Occupation: Chief of Public Relations for Obsidian Holdings

Affiliation: Executive Board Member, Obsidian Holdings

Languages Spoken: English, French, schoolroom Latin

Positive Traits: charming, ambitious, adaptive, clever

Negative Traits: manipulative, vindictive, cruel, arrogant  

Likes: a crisp diet coke, the oxford comma, singing chappell roan after three espresso martinis at karaoke

Dislikes: losing, flyover states, sloppy writing  

Aesthetic: perfectly crafted media strategies; being chronically online with three different burner accounts; the sound of expensive heels across marble lobbies; falling asleep to the comforting sounds of the city – fearing the silence of rural spaces; the constant struggle between imposter syndrome and god complex; fighting dirty, because you don’t know any other way; legally binding contracts signed in glitter gel pen

Inspiration: Amy Brookheimer ( veep ); Margo Hanson ( the magicians ) ; Ianthe Tridentarius ( the locked tomb )

HISTORY: ( tw drug use, tw death, tw murder ( allegedly) )

You were born in a ghost town. Or at least, a town well on its way to being one. Your mother’s hated this place ever since the honeymoon glow wore off, and the wayward daughter of New York money found herself 6 months pregnant, disowned, and trapped in a county with more cattle than people. Your father loves her, always has and always will. He gifts you his eyes – wide and wild and dark, those expressive doe eyes that Johnny Cash wannabes write songs about in high school, mostly drunk crooning in the beds of pickups or at bonfires under the oppressive blanket of sky and stars.  

You learn to lie early, and find you have a gift for such storytelling. Your mother never hides her distaste, and your father is so earnest in everything he does – so you become the master of manipulation, playing them both perfectly. A secret, a moment of real truth: you love your father for all his earnestness, his genuine respect and awe for the land and the creatures that inhabit it. He might be the only completely, truly honest person you’ve ever encountered. Perhaps who’s ever existed. You know for certain that you pity him, you think you might hate yourself a bit for this.

You are the prom queen and cheer captain, a cliché of popular mean girl – until it all nearly burns down. You don’t love him, hell you barely even like him, but he’s the quarterback and you know precisely how these things are supposed to play out. So you let him think he has you, at least for a little while. How were you to know that a nice boy like him would get messed up in whatever drug trade went on in this town? But you could have done something, when he showed up at your door higher and more messed up than usual. You could have taken him to the hospital, to his lovely parents’ house, or even to the high school football coach. You could have doubled back after missing that first turn, once you realized he had no intention of stopping. On the way back you stop at a 24-hour diner the next town over, frantically asking after the boy you love with those wide and wild panicked eyes. You’re even caught on camera, tentatively approaching the desk of the seedy motel next to the dinner – pretty and righteously petulant when he cannot give you the answer you want. You manage to work yourself into false sobs on the way home, and then tearfully confess to your father that you missed curfew because you couldn’t find the boy. He drives you to the authorities in the morning – and you play the martyr, the lovely grieving girl left behind even better than Jackie herself. You never regret what you did, in fact you might feel nothing. Sometimes that scares you. Sometimes, late at night, you think you might hear his ghost

Your grandparents may have abandoned their daughter for her foolish recklessness, but they certainly don’t blame you. With their help ( read: money ) you get into Barnard College at Columbia University and move into that cushy historic brownstone, fulfilling ever hope and dream of theirs your mother once crushed. You slip into society as if you’ve always belonged here, and your grandmother often remarks that you’re the daughter she should’ve had. You only go back to Paxton once in those years away – the Christmas before everything goes to hell. Within a month, your father loses the ranch, not bought out by investors or the bank – but something else, something darker and more personal that he takes to his grave. Your mother runs to Paris before his body is even cold.

Your grandfather makes the initial introduction, but you prove your worth at Obsidian Holdings fairly quickly. Because what a lovely story you are – beautiful girl from nowhere overcoming tragedy and loss to get into an Ivy and work her way up a multibillion-dollar corporation. [ we ignore the nepotism and early crimes, like any good story ] New York has been home for over a decade, but Paxton killed the only truly, ontologically Good man to ever live, and that you cannot forget and will not forgive.

Obsidian looks west, wanting to expand into overlooked and underutilized markets in what you view as the wasteland of this nation. You suggest Paxton, offhand, really it's almost a joke at first. But when the CEO asks for more you see an opportunity. Paxton should be a ghost town, relagated to forgotten corners of the internet and long abandoned historical markers on the side of the interstate. Instead it's some gravitational black hole, catching hold of anyone who stays for too long and sucking out anything good they might have once possessed. You know this first hand – your mother can’t have always been that miserable and full of hatred. And you were once a child, full of wonder and joy. Only one person seemed able to withstand it – and yet they still took everything from him, including his life.

You’ll do whatever it takes to see this town in ashes, even if you might burn yourself out in the process. It doesn’t matter – your ghost will be sure to salt the earth behind you.

PLOT ARC.

Caught in the story of it all, they’ll do whatever it takes to fulfill their personal vendetta. Before now, they did what was best for the company and gained influence. It’s clear that they’ve been working to be here their whole career. As long as the interests of Obsidian is aligned with theirs, they’ll remain on the path.

[lottie-rcss]

Olivia Cooke for Square Mile ph. Dan Kennedy