#they should’ve won the Pulitzer or whatever

[taohun]

anyways. #ishqwalalove

[queer-things-and-stuff]

People really seem to glaze over the fact that Lena killed somebody. She made the decision to pull the trigger of a gun, in hopes that It would end a person's life. That's not an easy thing to deal with, let alone that that somebody was her brother, who her relationship with was so... complex, and then on top of that, the reasons why she did it, who she did it for, and then all of the truth coming down on her.

She must've sat for ages thinking about why she had done it, when Kara didn't deserve it, (she didn't know that Kara was Supergirl but she had her qualms with Supergirl before then, though they reconciled, her calling Lena "a Luthor" isn't something that can just be forgotten) and then maybe there was a voice in the back of her head saying that It was for the whole world, not Kara, well not just Kara. But that wouldn't make it any better.

If the world had found out, it would've said that Lena Luthors actions made sense because well... she's a Luthor.

If people had known what she had done, they would've said that Lena should've been happy to finally rid herself of someone that hurt her so much, but that's not always how it works, and she didn't 'rid herself' of him. She killed him. "It was a good kill", "It was for the greater good", " It was a clean shot", "There was no other way", "It was payback", whatever you want to call it doesn't change that fact that Lena Luthor, a person who has always done her best to be good for her entire life, who has done so much to prove that she was good to this world, shot her brother, and Killed him.

People would also say that Lex came back so it doesn't matter, but Lex was dead, he died, the only reason he came back was because of The Monitor. Then on top of all of that, she lost everything that she had done when the world was 'reset', and Lex was back, having taken everything from her, again. Tormenting her again, abusing her again.

His power over her had probably never really left after she killed him because she was still haunted by what she did, haunted by the fact that she was truly alone, but at least she still had her company, at least her name was finally good (even if she no longer thought that she deserved it). All of those thoughts wiped away and replaced by thoughts of hopelessness, at waking up in a world she didn't truly know, having lost everything and everyone, and having gained back Lex Luthor, her brother, a man who tormented both her specifically, and the whole entire world, a man who she had shot and killed, a man who even on his death bed, succeeded at turning everything she had known to shambles.

After that, she must've thought about what the world would've been like if she hadn't shot him, if she had just walked away would he have died, or would he still have told her that Kara was Supergirl, would Kara eventually tell her herself at the Pulitzer party, if he would've lived to see another day would he have just told her then, kept tormenting the world, aliens and humans alike, but especially the Supers? Would he have come back even stronger again, and becaue this time was such a close call, would he have won, would he have Killed Supergirl, and in turn killed Kara Danvers, how would she feel then, if she only ever found out after Kara had died, would Lex be the one to tell her or Alex, would Kara die in her arms, her last words that are "I'm sorry", and that she was Kara Danvers. Would she ever be told at all, of course she would put two and two together on her own eventually what with the dissapearince of both her best friend and the worlds savior.

I wonder, if Lex hadn't told her that "Kara Danvers Is Supergirl" would Lena have told Kara that she killed him? I think so. I also think that she would've grown even closer to Kara than ever before, things would've been better, alot of those questions she was dealing with would've gone away, but not all of them, and the ones that stayed, Kara would make go away, comfort her and make her feel better about everything (It's kindof ironic I think).

And then Kara would probably never have told her that she was Supergirl... she should've, but she wouldn't have. Because Lena was so hurt, and she wanted to make that hurt go away, and even if it was eating her up inside, consuming her every waking moment (just like in cannon), she would never purposefully put Lena in more pain than she was already in. What she didn't know couldn't hurt her, not yet.

I think that Kara would've had only noble reasons to keep her secret in this scenario, all of the thoughts of Lena hating her drifting away, leaving only thoughts of Lena in pain.

[alarawriting]

Inktober #13: Ash

Here we are with “No Drama” again. The actual book is in first person, but I went with third and a different POV than John’s because I wanted to explore what he looks like from a human’s perspective.

***

Lailah arrived at the bar as quickly as she could, panting slightly. “John! What’s the emergency?”

“There’s no emergency,” her partner, John Deer, assured her, slurring slightly. He had a glass of bourbon in front of him, no ice, mostly empty. The fact that he was slurring, and the fact that he had called her insisting that it was an emergency and she needed to meet him at Gaetano’s right away and now he was claiming there was no emergency, suggested that it was not his first one, or likely, even his third.

“You said there was an emergency,” she snapped. She hated bar stools. She hated absurdly tall men who sat on bar stools and then looked down at her because she was very short and not on a bar stool. “Tell me now why I don’t just walk the hell out of here.”

“Because Heph was busy and Mike’s in his studio and he won’t let me call,” John said, “and it’s a funeral, so I need someone to drink with.” He grinned as if what he had just said was the most reasonable thing possible.

Lailah sighed and put her camera bag on the bar. “Buy me something, then,” she said. “Something light if you expect me to drive your ass home when you’re done.”

“Bartender!”

Despite the fact that the bar was fairly full, the bartender came over to him almost immediately. John had a weird magnetism that made everyone pay more attention to him when he wanted attention, ignore him when he wanted to be ignored, and assume he belonged anywhere he happened to be. Lailah was pretty sure the personal magnetism thing was dependent on the fact that he was a white dude – she couldn’t imagine a world where that trick would work for a black woman – but it went a lot farther than just being a charismatic and decent-looking white dude could explain; he’d gotten her into the White House once. Any time anyone had questioned what she was doing there, he’d said, “She’s with me.” No one had ever asked him what he was doing there.

“What’ll you have?”

“A hard cider for the lady, and another bourbon for me.”

The bartender nodded and bustled away. “How many of those have you had?” Lailah asked.

“Not enough yet.”

She sighed, mentally shrugging. She wasn’t his mom. If he wanted to drink himself stupid, that was his problem. She’d nurse her one cider, watch over him to make sure he didn’t do anything egregiously dumb, and drive him home when he was done, or when she was sick of putting up with him, whichever came first. She liked John, but he could be an amazing ass sometimes.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked. “Did we get a contract? Or did one fall through?”

“Neither,” he said, and waved at the front windows of the bar. “You can’t see it from here. I mean, you could see the star, maybe, if there was a lot less light outside and it was the right season or you were in the right place, and it’d help to have a telescope, but the point is. The point is. You can’t see the planet. It’s two hundred fifty-seven light years away from Earth, right now.”

“I’m sure that seems really relevant to you in your current state, but—”

“No. Listen. They killed themselves. You’d be seeing it right now if you could see it. Two hundred fifty-seven years ago they burned their entire planet to ash. There were single-celled organisms left alive, and some of their equivalent of insects. You know every single planet with multi-cellular life has something like a cockroach, right?”

“I’m sure it does,” Lailah said, wondering if a hard cider was going to be enough to get her through this.

John was weird. Possibly not all there, mentally. He was brilliant, he was amazing at persuading people to do anything – including answer his questions, which for a journalist was an incredible talent – he saw connections no one else could see, and he spoke so many languages, Lailah hadn’t yet been somewhere that John wasn’t fluent in the local speech. For a photojournalist, he was a great partner to have, and if she ever won a Pulitzer it would probably be for photos he got her in place to be able to take. But he was weird.

If he’d been frequently drunk, like he was tonight; if he’d sexually harassed her, or anyone else; if he was on illegal drugs… she wouldn’t have liked any of those things, and the sexual harassment thing would have been a deal-breaker for their partnership, but she knew a lot of journos with one or many of those particular flaws. Those, she would have understood. But John… occasionally talked about historical events as if he’d been there, frequently made off-hand references to other planets and then pretended he hadn’t, and often referred to humanity as “you” instead of “us.” She strongly suspected he was delusional, and overly influenced by science fiction.

Most of the time he stayed professional about it; an occasional slip, and then a bullshit excuse why he’d said it, an outright denial that he’d said it, or completely ignoring her questions, and moving on. She suspected that tonight wasn’t going to be one of those times.

“Nothing left,” he said, and took his new glass from the bartender, downing about half of it. Lailah winced. Her cider was cold, and tasty, and desperately needed with John turning weird up to 11.

“Okay, so let’s say for the sake of argument that I accept this. There’s a planet 257 light years away and they destroyed themselves. Why do I care? Why do you care?”

He blinked at her. “Because!”

“I need a little more than that to go on. Because why?”

“Don’t you care? They were people. Like you’re people. Like—” he waved his left arm to encompass the room, and narrowly avoided smacking the guy next to him – “this whole planet. All the creatures on it. Now imagine they’re gone. Ashes. Dead. Don’t you think it matters?”

“It matters while we’re dying, I guess,” Lailah said. “But after we’re dead, who’ll be there to know or care?”

“I will!”

“Right, because you’re immune to nukes. I should’ve figured.”

“I am,” John said, pointing at her as if he was imparting vital information, or dressing down an unruly student. “But that’s not the point.”

“I’m not sure what the point is…”

“They’re dead!” John snapped, and slid off his chair, staggering toward the door. Cursing quietly, since she expected her cider wouldn’t still be there when she returned, Lailah grabbed her camera bag and followed him.

Directly outside the bar, John pointed at the sky. “They were just like you. Six legs instead of four, radial symmetry instead of bilateral. They had three eyes, three vibrating membranes for picking up sound. Made noises like parrots do, they could imitate almost any sound they heard. They blew fiberglass into tapestries. Thick skin, it didn’t make them itch. Blanketed their world with fiber optics to communicate with each other. Laid eggs. The females used to go out and get food while the males cradled the eggs and kept them warm, but they’d developed sexual equality so both parents took turns cradling the eggs.”

“I don’t understand why you’re telling me this.”

“Because they’re dead. I tried to help them and it turned into a holy war and that was the last thing it should have been and I didn’t see the danger in time and then they hit the buttons and they blew it all up. You think nukes are bad. They had antimatter. It was going to be clean, pure energy, they were using the power of the sun to make the stuff, in space. Their sun was bigger than yours. Still is, the sun’s still there. Planet too. It’s the life that’s gone. So much ash.”

Lailah shook her head. This was plainly a mental illness. John was seriously distressed by the imaginary death of his imaginary planet. But it wasn’t going to do any good to tell him it was imaginary if he was delusional. Best for him if she played along. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know what they were going to do.”

“But I should’ve! It was my job! I was… I was supposed to be guiding them. Helping them. It was going to prove to the Convocation that my way would work. Strong intervention policy, step in and help them reach the eschaton, right? But they never will because I fucked it up and they’re all dead.” He looked around himself. “I’m not drunk enough.”

“I think maybe you are,” Lailah said.

“Then why hasn’t it stopped? I look up in the sky and I know, if I had a powerful enough telescope, I could see it now. I could see them dying right now. Today’s the day. Two hundred fifty-seven light years, three light months, twenty-two light days. I can see it but I can’t change it. It’s in my past, you can’t break causality like that. You can go back but you can’t change things. Whatever happened, always happened, or things break. Worse things than one planet. But they were my charges and they’re dead and it’s my fault.”

“And you think you can drink enough to stop thinking about it? To make it stop hurting?” She wanted him to be sitting down so she could put a hand on his shoulder. He was way too tall for that when he was standing. “It doesn’t work like that. “Maybe you can blunt it some, but you aren’t going to make yourself feel better. Not if you’re carrying guilt like that.”

He swayed slightly, and sat down on the sidewalk, with his usual unconcern for whether something was socially appropriate to do. “I got them killed. They should have kicked me out of the Host forever. I thought ten years was bad, but that’s nothing. All those people have been dead for two hundred and fifty-seven years.”

Lailah had no idea what he was talking about, but now she could reach his shoulder. She crouched so she could look him in the eye. It wasn’t comfortable; her thighs started to burn immediately. But if she sat, she’d be shorter than him again. She reached toward him, two brown hands on the shoulders of the loud pink button-down he was wearing. “Listen to me. You’re a good man, John. You could make a lot of money doing celebrity bullshit or puff pieces for politicians, but you’re nobody’s lackey. You find stories about corruption and people getting hurt and you expose all that. Your reporting has gotten stupid laws repealed and people suffering from those laws support.”

“That’s supposed to make up for an entire planet?”

She shook her head. “Look, I don’t know why you’re carrying this much guilt. You know I think you’re having some kind of mental episode when you talk about alien planets. But I can see the guilt is real. No matter what actually happened, I know to you it feels like you got an entire planet full of people killed. But let me ask you, did you pull the trigger?”

“No, but—”

“Did you tell any of them to do it? Did you trick them into killing themselves? Did you rig things so that was the only way forward they saw, or did you make them think something different would happen?”

“No – no, I tried to tell them, I tried – but I could have done something! I have powers! I could have – I could—”

“I don’t know much about this situation, but it sounds to me like something you didn’t have nearly as much control over as you think you did, or maybe as you wish you did. Maybe you want to believe you could have saved them because you’re afraid for this planet, and if you could have saved them but you messed up and you didn’t, then maybe you could save us from ourselves and not mess it up. I don’t know. But it sounds to me like it wasn’t really your fault. I think you got a bum rap, is what I think. Like that woman who got charged with vehicular homicide because her son was killed in a hit-and-run while she was trying to cross the street. Maybe she shouldn’t have been jaywalking, but the crosswalk was half a mile away and the guy driving the car, he was a drunk driver. He was the one who killed her son, not her, but the system decided to blame her because it’s always gonna blame a mother for whatever happens to her kids and especially if she’s black. But it wasn’t her fault. And this whatever it is. I don’t think it was yours.”

“I want another drink,” he said stubbornly.

“Well, you gotta pay your tab, and if they threw out my cider while I was talking with you, then you owe me another one,” Lailah said. “But I think you should do beer or wine at this point, or you’re gonna be puking in my car when I take you home.”

She helped him back to his feet. “I wanna talk to you about the DC trip,” she said. “Tomorrow. We’ve got logistics to work out. I don’t want you driving.”

“I can drive,” John complained. “I mean, not now. ‘Cause I’m drunk now.” He laughed. “That’s the rule, right? You get hammered, you don’t drive. But I can drive. When I’m not drunk.”

“Yeah, but you drive like shit, so I am not letting you behind the wheel. Which makes things complicated if we’re getting a rental, because my credit cards are all maxed out.”

“And mine aren’t?”

“Well, I hope like hell that they’re not, because you don’t have a car and mine’s way too crap to drive to DC. But we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” She guided him to the bar, where, miracle of miracles, her cider still stood. “Come on. Let’s get a booth. I want a crab pretzel.”

“Only if. Only if I can have nachos.” He put far more import into his tone than the subject of nachos really deserved.

“Yeah, sure. You’re buying, right? So you can have whatever you want.”

[frvnchies]

     lovable alpha bitch / the speechless / so beautiful, it’s a curse

NAME.

FULL NAME: francesca eloise waverly. PREFERRED NAME/NICKNAMES: frenchie. GENERALLY REFERRED TO AS: francesca by her parents (which she does not like!), frenchie by essentially everyone else.

APPEARANCE.

FACECLAIM: halston sage. SEX: cisfemale. HEIGHT: short — she’s about 5′3″. WEIGHT: about 115 lbs normally, more like 110 during pageant season. BUILD: slim with some tone from working out. HAIR: soft natural dirty blonde with some subtle highlights from the salon, often styled in loose waves. HANDS: small, delicate, perfectly manicured hands. she has a regimen for taking care of herself, hands included (she’s got a mani-pedi appointment every tuesday afternoon). SCARS: faded scar on her knee from a fall as a child. CLOTHES: she dresses like a sorority girl, tbh. a lot of lilly pulitzer, some madewell and free people, kate spade bags, pearls, lululemon leggings & vineyard vines or simply southern shirts when she’s feeling lazy. OTHER NOTABLE FEATURES: wide smile.

SPEECH.

VOICECLAIM: as far as her normal speaking voice, halston works. as for singing, i’m gonna go big and say she’s got a touch of sara bareilles. ACCENT: soft carolinian accent, kind of like this. VERBAL TICS: tendency to use pet names (sugar, honey, darlin’, etc).  LANGUAGE: she’s fluent in english & ASL, currently studying spanish. ARTICULATION: she’s very articulate and sure of herself when explaining things. as with most things in her life, this is a result of excessive pageant practice. EDUCATION: the thing about the way frenchie talks is that it’s long & tiresome, but more from the fact that she drawls her words like a good southern girl and less from the fact that she uses big words. she’s not dumb, but it’s not her style. LAUGHTER: she doesn’t laugh loudly because her mother says it’s not ladylike. she tends to giggle instead. BREATHING: she makes a lot of noise during club meetings, partly because it’s easier to convey her meaning through sighs and humphs than writing something out. 

MANNERISMS.

FACE: a lot of times, she doesn’t mind people knowing what she thinks, so it’ll be written all over her face (i.e. when she sees the murder club being weird, it’s not hard to tell that she thinks it’s weird). that being said, she can put on a pretty good poker face when she wants to. HANDS: being too expressive / talking with her hands / making herself too big or loud in general has been drilled into her as unladylike, so her hands usually stay folded in her lap.  LEGS/FEET: absolutely not. see above. EMOTIONAL OUTBURSTS: if anything, frenchie tends to maintain the hell out of a poker face when she’s upset and then burst into tears the second she’s alone. she doesn’t like losing face in front of others; it feels too vulnerable. HABITS: most fidgety sort of habits have been discouraged by her mother. the one thing she can’t get frenchie to stop doing is twirling her hair. POSTURE: her posture is absolutely perfect. that’s a pageant queen for you! PERSONAL SPACE: depends on who we’re talking about. with friends, she’s much more likely to be comfortable with them – ex. brushing shoulders, casual touches, etc. with strangers or people she doesn’t know, she’ll back off a little, and is more averse to them getting up in her space. she’s pretty tolerant of anything, though. OTHER: she can usually be found chewing a stick of gum.

HEALTH.

DIET: frenchie’s on a pretty strict diet as far as keeping in shape for pageant stuff. this usually means a lot of salads, lean meat, veggies, that sort of thing — if she even bothers to eat at all, which is less likely to occur during pageant season. she has an undeniable sweet tooth, though, so she’ll always cave for a shake at marie’s. SLEEP: these days, she doesn’t sleep as much. she usually tries to get a solid eight hours, but her sleep is so restless now that she’s lucky if she can grab a few hours at best. EXERCISE: it probably borders on a little bit too much of the treadmill / stairclimber. right now she’s more busy with the murder club, which takes away from her usual regimen. ACTIVITY: she’ll damn near kill herself practicing pageant stuff if she thinks it’ll make her mom happy. CLEANLINESS: frenchie takes a lot of pride in her appearance, so she’s always been the type to shower regularly and keep herself clean & tidy. she has a whole regimen of soaps, scrubs, lotions, etc. that she follows religiously.  ODOR: her signature perfume is armani’s sí. if she’s not wearing that, she’ll still smell pleasant and vaguely girly, mostly like her shampoo. MEDICINAL DRUGS: she got a prescription for xanax last year, but she never filled it. NARCOTICS: she’s not averse to smoking some weed at a party, but nothing more than that (she tends to worry about her singing voice). PARASITES: does jamie count as a parasite?

PERSONAL.

INTROVERT/EXTROVERT?: definitely an extrovert — she always likes being around people, and usually feels better / more energized when she’s out and about.  OPTIMIST/PESSIMIST: optimist. she has an unwavering belief that things will work out. this is probably a result of the fact that she’s white, pretty, and well off, so things do tend to work out for her. SEXUALITY: frenchie’s still kind of figuring this out, but she’s bisexual. as far as people she’s dated in the past, they’ve usually been the type of person people expect her to be with — hot, popular, etc. as for what she actually wants for herself, she really just needs someone who’ll make her smile. ROMANTIC: biromantic. again, has yet to realize that anyone other than cis dudes are really an option for her, but she’s got a big heart underneath all that hairspray, and she’s secretly a hopeless romantic.   MEMORY: she has a better memory than a lot of people give her credit for. she’s especially good with names/faces/dates/times, that sort of thing. PLANNING: she has a planner. does she use it? no. she just wanted the lilly pulitzer print to tote around. this bitch just wanders into whatever she wants to do next — her whims are wild and often. INTUITION: she generally trusts herself and her gut. whether or not this is a good thing is still up for debate. GOALS: as of right now, her only clear goal is to win the miss teen normal 2019 pageant. other than that, she has a vague idea of the kind of life she wants to have, but pageantry has really shaped a lot of who she is. INSECURITIES: she’s insecure about the fact that she kind of feels like a one trick pony. if she can’t do pageants, what can she do? ACHIEVEMENTS: little miss normal 2012, young miss normal 2014, junior miss teen normal 2017... you get the gist.   ANXIETY: pageants lol. her mother. the idea of failing her mother. anything along those lines, honestly. SELF-HELP: frenchie is very much of the ‘ignore the problem until it goes away’ mindset. this is not working for her at all right now, which distresses her greatly. BAD HABITS: she smacks her gum, which drives her mother absolutely insane. otherwise, she tends to drill out her bad habits before they can form. PHILOSOPHY: she was raised catholic, but frenchie has struggled with the whole believing part of religion for years. she still goes to services every sunday with her family, but her heart’s not in it. she wants to believe in something, but she has a hard time taking the church’s word for it. she’d probably fall best under agnostic for now.

THE PAST.

PARENTS/GUARDIANS: her relationship with her dad is amiable but distant; he’s always at work, so they never really bonded the way they should’ve. she’s tied up tight with her mom, but that relationship is absolutely riddled with anxiety and angst. she wants so desperately to have her mom’s approval that she has very few positive interactions with her. WORST DAY OF THEIR LIFE: the day she lost her voice. not only was it incredibly embarrassing to stand on stage and watch everyone whisper about her, but she’s genuinely distressed by the idea that it has yet to come back. there’s no explanation, no reason — she can’t be stuck like this the rest of her life. BEST DAY OF THEIR LIFE: when she won little miss normal, her mother took the whole family out for a huge dinner and let frenchie get whatever she wanted. it was one of the few times she can remember having everyone together without a single sharp word or argument.

RELATIONSHIPS.

FAMILY: the only family member she truly trusts to have her back is her twin brother, theo. she absolutely idolizes her mother, but frenchie knows that she would leave her kids in the dust if she thought they needed to learn a lesson. FRIENDSHIPS: truthfully, she has almost no true friends. her best friend is, without a doubt, theo. frenchie’s the kind of person who’s surrounded by people, but feels absolutely alone — none of them really know her, or even care to try. though she might try to resist, the rest of the murder club is on their way to being her friend, too.  NEEDING A FRIEND: she generally deals with problems on her own (read: she does not deal with them and waits until it fizzles out), or she consults theo (read: she has him take care of it).   ANNOYANCES: cold shoulder, 100%. she’s a petty bitch and it’s very easy to do now that she legitimately cannot talk. ROMANCE: frenchie is actually very unsure when it comes to any sort of romance. she wants it, but has no idea how to invite it in. ADVERSARIES: people who say ‘lol’ out loud, the entire state of florida, people who chew really loudly, dentists, people who want to be dentists. ENEMIES: people who are mean to animals, probably. FUN STUFF: getting shakes at marie’s, going shopping, taking long drives. BEST FRIEND: theo.

INTERACTIONS.

MINGLING: when she actually tries, she’s got a certain charm about her that makes it fairly easy for her to make people like her. COMFORT LEVELS: as a rule, she doesn’t really have any issues talking to anyone, from strangers on up to close friends or family, so she’s pretty hard to faze in that sense.  GROUPS: she’s comfortable with both big and small groups. she likes having both in equal measure — big groups for a fun time, small groups for that good 1-on-1 dish. OPENNESS: since she doesn’t really have any true, close friends, she has a harder time opening up about real stuff. if she’s having issues, theo’s the one who will hear about it, and she’s never seen need to tell anyone else whatever’s closest to her heart. GENEROSITY: if the murder club was a sorority, frenchie would be everyone’s big. she’s still warming up to them a bit, but she’s very generous with milkshake orders, ghost hunting supplies — whatever. she doesn’t care. she has daddy’s amex on deck at all times. JEALOUSY: she’s jealous of people who seem breezily confident in themselves. though she seems very content with herself, she wishes she actually had that kind of easy comfort in her own skin. TEMPER: depends on the situation. certain people can get on her nerves more easily than others, but she’s not usually the type to have an outburst. EMPATHY: these days, she’s working on being a little more empathetic, especially since the murder club has a few people that she used to be pretty vicious towards. she’ll still lash out sometimes, but she’s trying. AFFECTION: little stuff — private smiles just for them, attempts to fill their needs before they even know they need it, generally trying to make sure that person is perfectly content. DISTASTE: just look for that characteristic derisive sneer. she’s not likely to hide it if she doesn’t like you. ETIQUETTE: etiquette is frenchie’s middle name. emily post who? RESPONSIBILITY: she does not like to admit that she’s wrong. it leaves a very bitter taste in her mouth. SELF ESTEEM: she’s not about to let anyone she sees as ‘lesser’ than her push her around. if you’re below her on the popularity food chain, she’s not gonna act like a little delicate flower. CONFIDENCE: depends on the day, her mood, etc. sometimes she’s all ‘i’m the hottest bitch ever to walk this earth’, and sometimes she feels like shrek. high school is magical. LEADER OR FOLLOWER: she tends to go with the flow more than anything.  PRAISE: she loves a good compliment! boost that ego. CRITICISM: she takes genuine criticism VERY poorly. when confronted with her own flaws, she tends to lash out and try to dig twice as deep into her critic. the notable exception to this is her mother — she’ll take that criticism with little more than an apology and promise to do better. INSULTS: insults are much easier to laugh off, for whatever reason. they feel more surface-level to her. EMBARRASSMENT: not too easily embarrassed, but if she is, she’ll just turn red and not really know what to say. FLIRTING: not usually unless she’s drunk or specifically interested in someone, but she does sometimes think it’s fun to bat her eyes and smile prettily at football players just to watch them trip over themselves. ATTENTION SPAN: frenchie is a magpie. show her a pair of earrings and she’ll forget what she was saying entirely.

LIFE.

DUTY: no real responsibilities to speak of beyond being on time for practice. TECH: she’s been through three phones in the past year. that should speak for itself. COMBAT SKILLS: frenchie might not have bulk on her side, but she’s vicious enough to hold an attacker off for a minute or two. those perfectly manicured nails will go right for your eyes if you try to mess with her. HOME: she’s very organized. her room is nice and neat and very pleasant to be in. INDEPENDENCE: frenchie is absolutely dependent on her parents. she likes to pretend that she can do anything she wants on her own, but she’d be lost without them.  COOKING: she’s actually a pretty good cook. growing up, her nana made sure she knew all the good southern recipes passed down through their family so she ‘could take care of her husband properly someday’.  BUILDING: the idea of frenchie building anything is hysterical. SHOPPING: she shops constantly. i’m sure she’s bought things online literally during murder club meetings, and has come home with bags on bags of stuff before. DRIVING: she’s got a cute little baby blue VW bug, courtesy of daddy’s big bonus and presented to her on her sixteenth birthday. FINANCES: virtually all her money comes from her parents, who are very comfortable financially. her dad is a very successful lawyer, so frenchie will usually end up getting some sort of ‘allowance’ from him each month. this is often flexible — if she really wants something, she’s pretty much guaranteed to get it. PETS: she has a golden retriever named ollie.  LAW: no ma’am, no sir. unless you count underage drinking. MEDICAL: she currently has doctor’s appointments out the wazoo to try and figure out what’s up with her voice. before that, she was pretty vigilant about going to the doctor/dentist. she takes care of herself! WORRIES: these days, it’s her voice. day and night, she wonders — will she get it back? is she stuck like this? what will she do if it never comes back? it’s an endless cycle, and the answer is always the same: she doesn’t know. PARTYING: frenchie actually loves to party. her mother supports it if she has ‘a nice young man to escort her’, AKA she’ll probably call up kaz and ask him to take her so she can go. HOBBIES: y’all, we all know this bitch does pageants and nothing else.