derynadler

[derynadler]

Deryn sits up straighter, drowning her concern in the very (noticeably) cheap whiskey before shaking her head, placing her palms flat on the bar. "You keep saying that like if someone, right this very second, came through that door with a grenade, you would take the time to ask about whether or not it is live," she says, then quickly thinks better of it. "Don't confirm that. I will actively lose sleep if you do."

"They fought over it and bringing the grenade to school won?" She asks, eyes wide in a sort of disbelief that Deryn largely believed herself incapable of until about three seconds ago. She lowers her voice. "Holy shit, were there grenades in the apartment? It's so good that you and Geraldine did not overlap in my life, because you absolutely would've gotten me taken off the Christmas card list." She's mostly kidding – her former parole officer did not actually send her Christmas cards after their year-long correspondence of 'staying out of trouble?' and 'don't leave the state.' But Deryn likes to pretend it had meant something.

With his question, she sighs, having to really consider it. "God, am I boring? Do I need to go get not live grenades or whatever? I still have the bottle from that fight a few years back that that rugby player caught me with. But like... the story of how I got my ass kicked by the University South Florida women's rugby team at a house party is like... really humbling."

No stranger to boldly, and sometimes rudely, interrupting someone else's conversations or activities, Faolán settles right into yapping easily, "It's not live." Because it's worth clarifying that again.

"My da' gave me it to bring to class when we were doin' show-and-tell—before ya ask, my parents did get into a fight over that one—and it landed really well with the other kids." Beat, as a grin overtakes his features. "Not so much with the teachers."

A shrug then, "I got into a bit o' hot water there 'til they realized it wasn't live and that I wasn't a, like, child IRA member or some shit." He shifts in his seat some, always fucking squirming and in a state of unrest.

"Okay, now answer my question."

[derynadler]

deryn is in the middle of a bet with the bartender where she'd insisted no one could actually tell the difference between mid-level and bottom shelf whiskey. a bet she's very much losing, and considering pulling a runner about it. his question saves her from being blacklisted from yet another fine drinking establishment in town, which is it's own sort of mercy. she turns to face him, eyes narrowing in reluctant curiosity. "we're going to circle back to the first thing – kind of can't get past the 'i own grenades' part," she says, sipping from her own glass. "skip the show because i don't want the swat team rolling up before i finish my drink, and my parole officer would be like, super pissed at me and we're kind of just now getting to the sending christmas cards basis. tell."

OPEN STARTER for: Everyone. WHERE | WHEN: Coffeeshop, bar, whatever works | Afternoon or evening, your pick.

"Okay, so," as he slides in next to the person, boldly inviting himself to a seat with no hesitance. "Y'know how kids have show-and-tell?" Faolán is going somewhere with this, promise. "Imagine you had to do that now as an adult. What would you bring?" He sips on his drink, grimacing briefly at the flavor of it.

"Personally, I'm tryin' again at bringing a grenade—not live, mind you—and hoping it'll go smoother than it did when I was a kid at my actual show-and-tell."

[derynadler]

irreconcilable conflict at parties...

name: deryn christine adler

nickname: dare, little bird

pronouns/gender: she/her, cis woman

sexuality: bisexual (preference for women)

birthday: august 2

age: 30

zodiac sign: leo ☉ | aquarius ☽ | gemini➶  

residence: mango bay lofts (6a)

employment: bartender

mbti: ENTJ

enneagram: type 8w7

moral alignment: chaotic neutral

... i feel like a chain reaction

TL;DR:

trigger warnings: death, parental death, dementia, infidelity, alcoholism

deryn adler is the only child of two high school sweethearts. her dad was a middle school principal, and her mom ran this little apothecary shop, which is where deryn spent every second of every day she was allowed to.

when deryn was about ten years old, her mom started to act strange – erratic and forgetful, and occasionally more cruel than anyone who had ever known her thought she was capable of being. no one thought too much of it until she accidentally burned down the apothecary shop and couldn't explain what had happened. they took her to the doctor to find out that at the age of 32, she had early onset dementia. deterioration was pretty fast after that. by the time she died six years later, she had stopped remembering the strangers in her house.

toward the end, deryn's dad started to see someone else. it was, for all intents and purposes, an affair. to deryn, it was the final sign that he gave up on her mom. she still hasn't worked her way to forgiveness for that final betrayal.

she started acting out, and her dad assumed she would grow out of it. she didn't. she's spent the better part of two decades years making her best run at running her own life into the ground.

deryn is currently in the phase of regretting wasting a lot of time being angry at everyone and no one at all. she's coming around to the idea of digging herself out of the hole she turned her life into for the better part of two decades.

she drinks more than she wants to and always more than she intended. she started to humor the idea that she might have a problem sometime in the last year, but she's done nothing about it.

very much a ‘just go with it’ kind of person, even if ‘just going with it’ kind of makes her the architect of her own destruction? big fan of blaming the universe for her problems, even if it’s almost always a three-step trace back to ‘the consequences of her own actions.’

she's a loyal friend, though she doesn't always go about it in the right way. deryn has a strong propensity for making things worse when she tries to help. she burns far more bridges than she builds.

but sadly i don't know how it started...

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

my life for a ride or die friendship 

equally so for someone who she used to be friends with but they had a fallout

drinking buddies

roommates

former friends (would really love someone who got sick of her generally high level of bullshit)

former coworkers (she has worked? kind of everywhere and was equally terrible at them all)

exes/flings

an almost something that felt serious and one/both of them freaked and now it’s super weird

... i never wanted anything, and i never got it.

ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS:

tbd

VIBES:

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