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icariamusing · 4 years

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CHARACTER BASICS

FACECLAIM: Vanessa Morgan

NAME: Remi Rose Bellamy

AGE: 24

BIRTHDAY: July 12, 1996

OCCUPATION: Dance & Theater Teacher HS

HOMETOWN: Detroit, MI

PETS: N/A

POWERS

Remi has the power of dark fire attacks. She can release/use dark fire of various shapes and intensities to attack at will.

BIOGRAPHY

Growing up on the streets of Detroit, Michigan wasn’t exactly easy street for Remi Bellamy, but she either had to adapt or die. That sounds dramatic, but honestly, she wasn’t even remotely joking. When she was a baby, her lack of comprehension shielded her from things for a little while. She didn’t know that he father selling small dime bags out of their apartment wasn’t normal, or that her not always having a proper dinner wasn’t alright. All she knew was that it was home, and her mentality stayed that way until she was about seven.

Her father, Jacob Bellamy wasn’t a bad man. He was just a scorned one. Remi’s mother wasn’t a topic that was ever discussed inside of the home. When the little girl had asked about her once when she was little, all she’d gotten in response was that her mother was dead, and that was the end of it. Grief took her over momentarily for the woman she didn’t even know, but her focus shifted to trying to help her dad. The news explained her father’s circumstances and situation a little better to the girl. Perhaps losing her mom was why her dad’s life spiraled so much. She’d heard her grandad and grandma talk about how much potential he had, and how it was all wasted when that woman left him. She thought the words left him were a little harsh since surely her mom didn’t choose to die, but it made more sense.

As years passed, it was more and more clear that Remi had to help fend for herself. Her dad lost himself as he started sampling more and more of his product rather than selling it, and she was hungry. So, by age thirteen Remi was out there working the streets. It wasn’t hard to find other kids like her who had no guidance or direction, and all of them were led by Jarvis. Jarvis was an adult who counted on using the misguided youth of the hood to do his dirty work for him. Whenever he needed to make a drop, pick up some stolen parts, or make some sales, he used his kids. He kept them hooked by giving them just enough money to keep them happy and getting them hooked on the merchandise themselves. It was full proof. His “kids” as he liked to call them kept coming back for another hit of coke, and he’d proudly say that he was the only one who ever looked out for them.

Jacob Bellamy didn’t care about the calls from schools wondering about his kid’s absences or behavior as long as his daughter kept bringing him cocaine and cash, he thought that she was doing alright. Child services never had a reason to be called because to the naked eye Remi was well cared for. She always had the most trendy, even if inappropriate, clothing at school, was always clean, and had no signs of any abuse. While they didn’t agree with her father’s parenting at all, that was nothing but a personal opinion.

While it wasn’t necessarily something to be proud of, Remi was rather talented at surviving on the streets. Her bubbly personality and smile could get her nearly anything which came quite in handy when she needed to con someone. There were risks, but the girl was never stupid. A knife and taser were on her at all times. While Jarvis had offered her a small gun on more than one occasion, that was a length she wasn’t ready to go to yet. In her mind that made her cross the line from small time thug, to actual gang banger, and that seemed more permanent.

One night though, she wished she’d taken him up on it when she found herself on the bad end of a deal. Her partner was late meeting her at a drop site, and three thugs tried to jump her for her merchandise. Knowing that Jarvis would murder her if she let them get away with over five grand of cocaine, Remi panicked. Next thing she knew, a ring of black flames was surrounding herself and the other guys. They were looking at her with fearful faces and asking what she was playing at, but unconsciously all the girl did was make the circle get smaller and smaller until they finally dropped the bag. Remi didn’t know how she controlled the circle of black and was honestly more than a little freaked out, but she was thankful for whatever it was. Although, she knew better than to bring it up to anyone. Last thing she wanted was to end up in a straight jacket.

It wasn’t until Remi was fifteen that her life got completely turned upside down. One day she was on her usual street corner making out with her boyfriend after successful deal, and the next a woman was yanking her by the arm. At first, everyone around her went on high alert which didn’t seem to phase the stranger in the least bit. Remi immediately thought the woman was obviously crazy or had a death wish, but Remi began leaning towards the former when she heard the woman claim to be her mother. Naturally, Remi’s first reaction was to laugh in the stranger’s face. “My mother’s stone cold in the ground, honey. You must have the wrong one,” she replied as she made a shoo motion with her hand to try and get the woman moving along. Still, the woman asked for Remi to hear her case, and afterwards, she could leave if she so wished. Deciding she had nothing to lose if she listened to the tales of a lunatic, she assured her crew that she’d be fine and would catch them later.

Nothing, of course, could have prepared her for the tale spewed to her by Nyx. It was literally insane, and it wasn’t until the Goddess displayed some of her powers in the dark alley that Remi believed her. Slowly, the connection to what had happened in the alley all those years ago made sense, but instead of relief filling her veins, she instead felt anger. Hearing that she had siblings and a place to go didn’t sound like a salvation to her. Instead, it felt like a slap to the face. Remi was so happy that she finally remembered about her daughter enough once her sons were settled. On top of that, leaving her father wasn’t an option. Even though he wasn’t much, he was still her dad.

Remi’s situation changed drastically within days of that conversation though. One night she’d come home late after hitting up a club and found her father dead on the living room floor beside their coffee table with lines of coke set up. Everything from there was a blur. The last thing she remembered was taking a hit herself before calling the authorities. Somehow, her mother knew to show up, and right then painted out how little options her daughter truly had. She could either be put in the system and potentially end up in a situation she hated, or go with Nyx and be put with family. Remi nearly countered that she could also go with Jarvis, but she knew that wouldn’t be the safest either. The man was starting to point out how much of a woman she looked like and becoming to handsy for her liking. Out of desperation more than anything, Remi agreed.

The next months were hell. The Bennett’s were a nice family that graciously helped her, but going through withdrawals was awful. Her siblings checked in on her as she puked her brains out, went through cold sweats, and was in terrible pain, but her mind couldn’t really recognize the warmth of it all. All she could think about was how she’d give her right arm for another taste of coke.

Eventually she got placed with her own family not far from the Bennett’s residence, but she was able to come into her own while also getting to know her siblings. It took her some time, but as months passed she couldn’t help but feel thankful to her mother. After seeing her father die from the same addiction she’d possessed, she knew that it was only a matter of time until she fell to the same fate. Remi still thought it was almost a little too late, but she figured it was better than the Goddess never showing up at all. Her foster family were Nyx worshippers as well, so they encouraged her to work on her own abilities with her brothers, so she could master them along with self defense. Outside of that though, they wanted her to be able to finally have a normal childhood, so they encouraged her to pursue a passion in dance. Even though her previous knowledge had only been whatever she’d picked up from the clubs she used to frequently visit, her body had a natural skill. Between everything, she quickly found herself too busy to even focus on old habits that would get her in trouble.

Even though she knew of Icaria, the dancer decided to head to North Carolina to pursue a degree in dance at Duke University. While her family was worried about her being so far away, she assured her brothers that they could harass her whenever they wanted. Her college years were some of the best years of her life. She’d experienced love, heartbreak, friendships, and a free spirited life style that could only really happen in college. She’d decided to major in dance and minor in education, and after taking three years to teach dance at a high school back in New York, the woman was ready to make the move to Icaria.

Remi is free spirited, kind, but mysterious. After getting her heart broken by a woman she thought was her best friend, she doesn’t like dating people she puts in the “friend zone.” She thinks it’s twice as painful to lose the lover and friendship. Part of her mystery is her never speaking about her past in Detroit. No one outside of her family is aware of her darker past, and she likes to keep it that way. Keeping conversations on the lighter, brighter sides of things is her forte. When she’s not dancing, Remi can often be found watching anime, reading a book, or exploring food. She is a self proclaimed foodie and absolutely loves discovering new favorite spots with people. Family is incredibly important to Remi. While her father was a deadbeat she didn’t even bother wasting thoughts on, she did care greatly for her foster ma’s family. The woman had worked hard to give Remi absolutely everything, and while Adrianne asked for nothing in return, the woman was determined to always care for her. Remi is the dance at theater teacher at Icaria High School.

LEX | SHE/HER | 30 | LEX

#nyx

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reneeacaseyfl · 5 years

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Restaurant Review: Elysian Bar | Fortune

The Elysian Bar in New Orleans’ Marigny neighborhood occupies the 150-year-old rectory of Saints Peter & Paul. Set behind a gated garden of pygmy palms, the building is an inviting confection of brick and marzipan stucco. I don’t so much walk through the arched doorway as a magnetizing presence inside summons me forth, the single gas lantern flickering above my head like biblical tongues.

A long hallway stretches down the first floor of the former clergy quarters. There’s a snug coffee bar to the right. Two adjoining parlors to the left are lit and furnished for the sequel to Interview With the Vampire: ornately mantled fireplaces, cane chairs with crimson cushions, marble tables with legs shaped like sea serpents, eruptions of ferns and blood-purple flowers, body-length gold mirrors, bustled and billowing mustard drapes framing a burgundy gingham sofa like a theater stage. The dreamy space feels less like a restaurant than an exclusive house party you were invited to by mistake or as a cruel joke.

I pause by the entrance near a stack of menus, waiting for a host. There’s one on staff (management confirms later) but none appears, so I walk down the hallway. It’s difficult to tell the staff from the diners, but no one says hi or can I help you, so I keep going. The hall opens into a sunroom modeled after Monet’s dining room in Giverny, France. One door leads out to a brick courtyard, guarded by stained-glass saints watching from the 24-foot windows. Another doorway connects to the moody vermilion bar, whose cocktail menu showcases a grand tour of vermouths, including an Athenian rouge that smells like a bowl of vanilla and roses. I wait 10 minutes. Neither of the bartenders acknowledges me.

Hotel Peter and Paul’s rectory parlor. Courtesy of Hotel Peter and Paul

I backtrack to the foyer, where someone tells me to sit anywhere and “a server will be right over.” A server does not come right over. Then two do, a moment apart. The first takes my drink order and the second takes my food order, as if they were cocktail waitresses absentmindedly wandering the Harrah’s casino floor. Then Martha Wiggins materializes alongside my table, bearing a bowl of grilled okra and crispy, rice-floured-and-fried eggplant lashed with harissa, and the night starts looking up.

Rebirth

After she became a Popsicle tycoon but before she was a hotelier, People’s Pops founder Nathalie Jordi would pass the Peter & Paul compound—the schoolhouse, the rectory, the church, the convent—all closed more than a decade before she relocated to New Orleans from Brooklyn in 2009. “These buildings tower over the neighborhood,” she says. “They were dark and gloomy but still very beautiful.”

Jordi wanted to open a hotel in Marigny, but “much smaller and more modest” than the 71-key situation she wound up with: “I was aware of the [Peter & Paul buildings] but they just seemed out of my league because they were so big and required so much expensive renovation.” Partnering with design firm ASH NYC (the Dean in Providence, the Siren in Detroit) made the $20 million, four-year rehabilitation possible, and the Hotel Peter & Paul opened in October. The Elysian Bar, which is managed by the folks behind the Bywater smash Bacchanal, debuted a month later.

I wake up in a wrought-iron canopy bed, in an attractively monastic room at the foot of a dramatic wishbone-shaped cypress staircase in the old schoolhouse, thinking about that eggplant and okra. The tender vegetables were shellacked in fragrant, feisty pepper paste. Crème fraîche, fennel, and mint countered with cool touches. Black sesame seeds, whole cumin seeds, and peanuts made every bite crunch like Cracker Jacks.

The Elysian Bar inside Hotel Peter and Paul. Courtesy of Hotel Peter and Paul

Martha Wiggins, deliverer of the dish, is the chef de cuisine to Alex Harrell’s executive chef, and the two go way back. They cooked together at Sylvain and Angeline and have resumed their easy two-step at Elysian Bar, banging out an all-day menu featuring Southern produce and proteins on an international vacation. Huge, sweet, head-on prawns were plucked from the gulf, roasted, and bathed in fruity-hot Calabrian chile butter. Lacto-fermented corn blew up a mild-mannered cucumber salad with mini explosions of sugar, salt, and funk.

The grits were best I’ve eaten, a strain of red corn grown and dried by the Alabama coast, milled at Bellegarde Bakery in New Orleans, and finally simmered with milk and cream into a porridge as silky and beige as cappuccino foam. They came topped with a perfect poached egg, frizzled shallots, and mushrooms suspended in a barbecue-y tomato sauce, all delicious but ultimately unnecessary. These grits stand alone.

Laissez-faire

Elysian Bar’s eerie evening glamour abates in the sunlight. At 8:30 in the morning, when I shuffle across the hotel courtyard into the restaurant, the place feels like a mansion museum before the docents have arrived. There are no customers and no breakfast besides baked goods at the twee coffee bar—strange for a hotel restaurant. “The menu starts at 10:30,” says a dour barista, passing a cup of Congregation Coffee across the counter. She looks like she needs it more than I do.

I take the coffee for a walk around Marigny, where the houses are taffy-colored and the sidewalks cracked like Kit Kats. Trees turn whole blocks into canopied tunnels of greenery, and the air is thick with humidity and magnolias. There are worse places to wait for a restaurant to open.

I head back into Elysian Bar at 11 a.m. and, just like at dinner, there’s no staff to direct me. I wander into the sunroom, by daylight a country kaleidoscope of lemons and sapphires, and sit down. A server appears to inform me I have to order at the bar, and while I can order now, the kitchen won’t start serving food until 11:30. So I get up from my table, walk into the bar, place (and pay for) my order with the bartender. Nearly an hour later, the server then delivers that order to my table. Confused? Me too.

Inside the cafe at Hotel Peter and Paul. Courtesy of Hotel Peter and Paul

Harrell and Wiggins hold up their end of the deal again. The tannish-gray puck of sunchoke custard looks like something you’d use to grout bathroom tile, but it tastes purely of the creamy, nutty Jerusalem artichokes. A tangle of shaved asparagus, arugula, and radishes tossed in acidic, mustardy vinaigrette surrounds the custard like a green halo. Bourbon creates a subtle undercurrent of sweetness in the exquisite chicken liver pâté. Grilled sliced of wheat-y Bellegarde sourdough and tangy strawberry-beet mostarda accompany, and the three components eaten together harmonize like a choir.

The duck egg omelet is perfect. Made with Mississippi eggs and served with a well-dressed pile of arugula, it’s as yellow as a buttercup, pregnant with rich, runny triple-crème cheese, and not too wet or too dry. Chives and bowfin caviar bead the omelet’s sloping surface, adding balancing pops of salinity and allium heat to each luxurious forkful. I would eat this every day for breakfast and never get bored.

It’s afternoon—literally, after noon—when my “breakfast” is done. I see my server/not-server once during the meal. Because I’ve already paid, I can leave quickly, without saying goodbye.

Many people think the best thing a hotel restaurant can be is not a hotel restaurant. It’s much more valuable to be a place activated by locals, somewhere authentic, with genuinely good food and noncorporate ambiance. Elysian Bar has clearly achieved that. The smart cooking and evocative atmosphere make it a spectacular place to be, but for the guest who wants to belong to another city for one night, to feel welcomed and cared for, it’s only spectacular in how short it falls.