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''you do, awfully,'' the blonde cuts in, slipping into the space between dialogue and intermission, her presence sleek and yet carelessly ambiguous. she wasn't here just a moment ago, or was she? ''but listen, we can strike up a deal.'' swallowing down the sudden desire to laugh, like something sour, jo anne turns to catch alara's gaze, her soft, delicate edges tinged with mischief. ''everything that you don't want to drink, you can pass to me. i haven't had much to drink in any case, so it won't do me much harm. that'll keep your reputation and driver's license safe. ''

 open starter ( event one )

       location : wicklow ridge's park , mid - evening .

it's not a common occurrence , to spot alara out in town past 9pm . well , it used to be when she was younger & had absolutely no obligations or worries but now at the age of thirty - two , while running a business & raising a 5 year old , things definitely took a different turn . which perhaps explains why she keeps on refusing any strong liquor tonight , opting for a non - alcoholic beer , despite her friends begging her otherwise . " who's gonna drive y'all home , huh ? somebody's gotta' , and besides , i was promised dancing not drinking until morning , " she stands her ground with a sigh , taking a sip of her beverage before turning to the person now beside her . " do i sound like a buzzkill mom right now ? i do , don't i ? "

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''i believe i only see a common starling,'' she murmurs in lieu of a gentler greeting, pausing to let the double entendre linger as she catches a glimpse of her own reflection on a polished porcelain plate from the corner of her eye. she laughs then, only a moment later, like a cartoonish cat that ate the canary, one vibrant, yellow feather still protruding from her mouth. ''they're quite beautiful, regardless of their size and black spots.'' it sounds rudimentary, half-hearted at best, of course it does, but that's because it is. it's not their beauty that she covets; it's the wings. ''it was probably the lemon sorbet. it's not what most people would call a proper meal, but i have quite an exquisite palate.''

⤿ open  starter  :  @ wicklow  summer  social

despite  having  lived  in  wicklow  ridge  for  just  over  twenty  years  now,  there  was  something  about  events  like  this  that  still  felt  special  --  the  gentle  warmth  of  the  sun  against  his  skin,  the  sound  of  chatter  and  laughter  --  it  wasn't  something  you'd  find  back  in  the  frenzy  of  inner-city  london.  he  rests  back  on  his  elbows  where  he's  sprawled  on  his  picnic  blanket,  stomach  full  from  one  too  many  muffins,  eyes  trained  on  a  trio  of  birds  on  a  nearby  tree.  “   downy  woodpeckers,   ”  he  thinks  aloud  to  the  nearest  person,  “   very  similar  to  the  hairy  woodpecker,  but  these guys  have  smaller  beaks  ...  and  black  spots  in  the  tail  feather, see ?  ”  he  watches  for  a  moment  before  shaking  his  head:  snap  out  of  it,  david  attenborough.  “   anyway,   ”  sheepish  grin,  “   what's  the  best  thing  you've  eaten  so  far  ?   ”

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''oh, i'm afraid i won't be of much help,'' she says, swishing a gulp of her espresso in her mouth that, much like her demeanor, has suddenly turned cold. ''i'm not really a foodie.'' which is both simultaneously true and false, verging precariously on the thin line of dialetheism. for instance, jo has never derived any pleasure from the mere taste of eggs as well as minced meat, and she hardly favors soup, no matter the recipe, but her obsession with various sweets has always kept her sated; a trait, of course, she hopes has skipped her son. ''but my son dean really likes the strawberry cupcakes. so, maybe that'll help you narrow down the list.''

𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝗋 ›› ft. max st. james where: the great ridge potluck status: accepting replies

general displeasure surrounding his current situation had mostly been left behind in his room at the inn, tucked away like an outfit he'd chosen not to wear. a relaxed grin adorned his features instead. there may not be any cameras around but max didn't require one to play a part. he couldn't remember the last time he'd been to a picnic that wasn't on set. it was a pleasant gathering, he supposed; the weather was good at least.  ❝  tell me, ❞   elbows rested on the picnic table when he leaned slightly forward toward the other person,  ❝  what is the one food you'd say i have to try here? ❞

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★  ‧₊˚  ⋆  suki waterhouse.  cis woman.  she/her  …  now  playing:  no ordinary love by sade  —  oh  ,  that  ?   might  be  jo anne starling finch ,  a  thirty-three  year  old  novelist  who’s  been  hanging  around  wicklow  ridge  for  two years  ,  just  long  enough  to  stir  up  some  trouble  if  you  ask  me.  they’re  a  regular  at  cedarvale  orchard  &  winery  ,  always  going  on  about  “no live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality”  like  it’s  gospel.  around  town  ,  folks  say  they’re  charming  &  genuine  —  but  when  they  think  no  one’s  listening  ?  it’s  more  like  escapist  &  erratic.  are  the  rumors  true  ?  maybe  not  …  but  it  sure  makes  life  around  here  a  little  more  interesting. 

NAME JO ANNE STARLING FINCH. ALIAS(ES)  /  NICKNAMES    IT'S COLLECTIVELY KNOWN THAT MOST PEOPLE JUST CALL HER JO, CHOOSING TO OMIT ANNE AGE THIRTY-THREE ZODIAC AQUARIUS SUN. DOB JANUARY 24TH. GENDER CIS WOMAN. PRONOUNS SHE/HER. PLACE OF BIRTH BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS . OCCUPATION FORMER FLIGHT ATTENDANT, CURRENTLY A HORROR NOVELIST

HEIGHT 173 CM. HAIR NATURALLY DIRTY BLONDE BUT DYED IN A LIGHTER SHADE, STYLED IN A DYNAMIC AND VOLUMINOUS LOOK, 60S INSPIRED . EYES BROWN, ACCENTUATED WITH FALSE LASHES. SCENT GIRL OF THE YEAR BY THIN WILD MERCURY, LOTS OF POWDERY NOTES, WITH IRIS AND AMBER. INSPIRATION / CHARACTER PARALLELS SHIRLEY JACKSON, ANNE RICE, OTTESSA MOSHFEGH, PRISCILLA PRESLEY ( PRISCILLA 2023 ), JO MARCH ( LITTLE WOMEN ), SHARON TATE RELATIONSHIP STATUS DIVORCED CHILDREN TBA FINCH ( 4 YEARS OLD ) PETS ONE CORGI CALLED PLUTO

tw: mentions of postpartum depression, agoraphobia, suicide ( in relation to her books )

she should've been called johanna, or simply joanne, but her father's hand, driven by excitement, had trembled and slipped, and left a spacing on the birth certificate. it's a slapstick tale, of course, spilled yearly over the family table, retold to the point of absurdity with boundless gusto.

the gravitational pull of her father, mother, and most importantly older sister, is what keeps her centered in boston, prompting her to always, no matter how late, come home. at twenty, home is where the heart isn't — she leaves it sporadically, like a heavy thing you carry, in new york, rome, stockholm, tokyo, and sydney, only to ship it back to boston as fragile goods. the equation shifts suddenly, altering the very reason behind her consecutive returns — this time it's for love.

her marriage is a lesson in ornithology — starlings and finches aren't bound to fly together. young and auspicious, she falls fast and marries faster, burning brightly until she starts to feel hollow. she gives more than she gets in return. at twenty-eight, and with child, things come to a halt. she goes from seeing the whole world to only the rooms within her home, confided for her health's sake. so she grows tired, and resentful, knowing that she can never go back to her old self.

unable to part from her newborn son, deeply overwhelmed and nearly despondent, she quits her job and finds solace in writing, publishing her very first book only two years later. the book, titled house fever, tells the tale of a woman named gemma suffering from a severe case of agoraphobia, who resides in an old family manor, which she had inherited like sin, through blood. she and her sister, who attempts to help gemma with her condition, soon discover that the house isn't so keen to let them leave. the house, on the contrary, is alive, and each room is a representation of a past family member and their sins. the house only wishes to feed. ( it's a reflection on generational trauma, and some of the fears that she faced while struggling with the initial stages of motherhood ). it certainly has that shirley jackson / otessa vibe going.

the book is almost an overnight success. jo anne goes from being a former flight attendant and housewife, to the top name on new york times best seller list. it sells in over 20 million copies worldwide and earns her quite a fortune. the same year, she moves to wicklow with her husband, desperate for a change of scenery and willing to initially provide support for him, hoping that things between them would finally get better. they don't. she begins the divorce process a year later. this pushes her to publish a novella. titled, where the forest screams, it's narrated from the point of a mother deer, her struggles with deforestation and loss of home, and the fear of losing her newborn fawn. in 2024, 20th century fox bought the screen rights to house fever. the film is set to premiere in 2027.

just recently, she announced her upcoming book, with my bare feet on the burning roof. it's set to follow a twin brother and sister, and the grief that comes after their parents perish in a suicide pact. many believe that the book is fated to solidify her presence in the horror / mystery genre.

despite the books that she writes, jo's a lively, vivacious woman, oftentimes far too sentimental for her own good. she pours great effort into her style ( think 60s blondes, high-grazing mini dresses, etc. ), living space, and her relationship with her son, which always comes first. she currently rents a spacious house where she spends most of her time writing and making sure that there's always light pouring through the windows. to keep herself additional company, she adopted a corgi, respectfully named pluto.

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Shirley Jackson, from We Have Always Lived in the Castle

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Suki Waterhouse

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The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone (1961) dir. José Quintero