#truth is? idrc. up for interpretation

[archivesdiveronarpg]

Congratulations, PIKA! You’ve been accepted for the role of MEDEA. Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow. Pika, you have no idea how absolutely ecstatic I am with this application. You capture their erratic nature -- how they seem never completely there but when they do...oh, when they do you should be careful. The future plots have me absolutely giddy with anticipation, the interview got me swoonin’, and the para sample seemed like the ribbon on top of it all. I am so excited to have Mallory in our midst once more and I can’t wait for everything to unfold!  Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

                                                                            WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | pika.

Age | eighteen.

Preferred Pronouns | she/her/hers or they/them/theirs, idrc.

Activity Level | lmao u already knooooo :))))))) terrible :))))))))))))

not great, to be completely honest. however, now that school is slowing down, i should be a lot more consistent; realistically, i’ll be on about every other day.

Timezone | pst.

Current/Past RP Accounts | hugo, noelle, miles, landon. the last two are hella old, ngl.

In Character

Character | madea ;; mallory chanda.

What drew you to this character? | lookie here: i loooooove the dynamic of the witches, the idea of each as an aspect of fate. cinead, the all-seeing, bears down the judgement of the past; hea, all-hearing, plays the fickle strings of the heart and mind as they shift in the present; and mallory, all-knowing, dances with fate, swapping secrets like gossiping old friends. each transcends the concept of the individual, but each is incomplete without the others. they’re delightfully enigmatic, and i love me a good mind screw.

i think that the thing that draws me to mallory in particular is their caprice, and their capacity for more. when you read mallory’s bio in tandem with their siblings’, you (or i, at least lol) definitely get the feeling that they’re the baby of the family. the siblings are cold and they are no exception, but underneath the facade of ice lies a deceptive blue flame—one so hot it burns you frozen, one that changes direction with the lightest breath of the wind. they seem to be more impulsive than their siblings (i mean seriously they just…..went out and won the lotto, nbd), but you can’t help but wonder: are they merely whimsical, or working toward some grander scheme? maybe it’s just because i have an undying love for meta, but i feel like it’d be such fun to play a character consistently a step removed from the present, eyes always flicking around the scenery because ultimately, it is not the individuals that matter, but what they do with themselves—how they leave a mark on the world.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

001. ► supernova (gods, impartial? ha. tell that to the greeks, darling.)

mallory’s relationships with hector and clark fascinate me in that, imo, despite being completely different in sentiment, they both stem from the men staunchly denying fate. my interpretation of mallory is one who believes strongly in fate, and the contrast between them is one that i’d like to see play out. they will not meddle with the fates of the men who meddle with fate, no matter how much they itch to, but i want them to do so. bring the god down to the level of mere mortals. make them give into their whims and engage with the world.

002. ► white dwarf (a deal with the devil; can you sell your soul when your heart holds no credit?)

mallory is more impulsive than either of their siblings. though they likely wouldn’t pick a side in the war for verona, i could certainly see them making deals with one side or another—with the clear caveat that they are neutral, and equally likely to assist another willing to bargain with a god. how would this play out? more importantly, how would their siblings react to this? there is a price to pay to make deals with gods, and i would love to see how mallory reacts to having multiple puppets on their strings.

003. ► black hole (the world began with a bang, and shall end similarly.)

mallory’s siblings are more than their family—they are the counterparts to their soul. how will they react to a threat to their existence? though their souls transcend the limits of mortality, their bodies do not, a fact mallory is simultaneously acutely aware of and utterly uncaring of. but, just as the gods of olympus are most vulnerable at their most opulent, what would happen to the witches if somebody attempted to question their omnipotence? i want fire and brimstone. i want the wrath of gods. mallory already has the fire. i’d like to see them burn.

In Depth

What is your favorite place in Verona?

They touch an impeccably manicured finger to their lips, considering the question. It’s rare that they have to field personal questions—most given the honor of their counsel are after a specific goal, and their questions tend to reflect that single-mindedness. Still, the triviality isn’t unwelcome, and though Mallory raises a wry brow, they answer genuinely.

“Did you know,” they begin offhandedly, “that I had originally proposed putting modern art in the Twelfth Night? My siblings and I diverged in opinion on this, obviously. And, as you can see, my opinion was overruled.” A sigh. “Is it not tragic, the plight of the youngest?”

But a smirk slowly slides across their face. “Please do not tell my siblings I said this—I do hate being wrong, you see—but they were right; Baroque has been a most fitting choice for the museum. Tell me: have you been there at night?” They close their eyes indulgently, snapping open to reveal an unreadable expression. “It’s great fun. One could even say that it is magical.” This sets them off, peals of musical laughter falling from their lips. “But I don’t think it’s magic that compels guests to kiss the statues, no? That is a human honesty, and truly, there is nothing more fascinating to observe.”

What does your typical day look like?

“Hm.” They drum their fingers across the top of their other hand, but their attention seems elsewhere. “I’m afraid the answer may bore you.” They uncross their legs, re-cross them, and continue their answer. “I wake up…hm. After the sun, but before noon. I will usually tend to business at the hotel in the afternoon, and perhaps fit in a catnap before the evening. Come then, I go to the museum and turn those who stay after closing into statues.”

They smile prettily. “Just kidding.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

They still, and a chill falls over the room. They still, and for the first time, there is a presence in their eyes—it is as if their mind has been elsewhere until now, and they have finally joined the present conversation. A smirk rolls over their lips, different than the one before; this one is distinctly feline, languid and knowing.

“It’s silly. Pettiness is such a waste of time, wouldn’t you agree?”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not quite truth, either. Yes, it’s a waste of time, but one Mallory is fascinated by, the way an entomologist is fascinated by a colony of ants. One to be watched from afar, perhaps on the sofa with their siblings. And—

“Oh.” The moment is broken; they have moved on to a new thought. “Perhaps I ought to ask Hea to buy popcorn before they come home.” They stand, obviously dismissive. “Yes. I shall do that.”

In-Character Para Sample:

It is a beautiful evening, the type that romantics write poetry over and lovers meet under. The sun paints a cascading orange against the sky, pulsing the last vestiges of light before it inevitably falls into bed with the shadows chasing it. And Mallory walks to work.

The heels of their shoes—four inch wedges, sensible for crossing cobblestones—glide soundlessly across the streets of Verona, leaving no trace of their owner behind. They walk languidly, confidently; their siblings are conducting business elsewhere, but their only responsibility for the evening is to prepare the Twelfth Night for the night. There is no rush. There rarely ever is.

And so, when a man approaches them, face alight with the reluctant, cautious awe characteristic of arrogant men humbled by proper power, they allow him to speak.

“Please,” he says, begs, “read my fortune. I’ll give you anything—anything!—I just…I think something bad may have happened, and I need to know what’s coming next.”

The only indication that they heard the man is in the single, perfectly-groomed brow that raises at his plea. The man certainly looks a mess, clothes rumpled and sweat beading on his brow. Mallory is unmoved by his appeal to their ethos.

But, admittedly, they are intrigued. Desperation is an endearingly human trait, one that Mallory finds almost charming.

( they can hear their siblings groans in the back of their mind, particularly cinead’s. well, it isn’t cinead’s time that they are wasting. )

“Hm,” they say. A beat passes. The man trembles. “Follow.”

—

“Three of swords, the Hanged Man reversed, and the Tower. Fascinating.”

“F-fascinating? What does that mean? Is that good?”

A laugh bubbles from Mallory’s chest. “Good? Bad? To label fate with something so crude would be boring.” They rise, and gather the three cards from the dusty stoop, brushing them off gently. “Fate is fate,” they say, and their eyes meet the man's—he cannot hold the contact for long, and looks away quickly. Their head inclines, feline in its judgement. “Though yours…your selfishness shall be caused by suffering.” They sigh. “How dull,” they say, more to themself than the man, shaking their head in disappointment. “If that is all, I shall take my leave.”

Mallory rises, and turns to walk back to their intended destination.

“W-wait!” The man calls to their back. “I can’t…I…You have the power to help me, right? I…I want to make a deal with you!”

Mallory pauses. Smirks. It seems they now have an appointment for the evening.

How fascinating.

Extras:

a playlist:

→ i put a spell on you ;; nina simone

i put a spell on you / and now you’re mine

→ never catch me ;; flying lotus ft. kendrick lamar

life and death is no mystery and i wanna taste it / step inside of my mind and you’ll find curiosity, animosity / high philosophy, hyper prophesied meditation

→ special affair ;; the internet

penny for your thoughts, i know what you want / i can read your mind even from behind

→ bone+tissue ;; gallant

sell me something i can use to catapult my value / treat me like the cardinal anointed in my vessels

→ fantasy ;; alina baraz and galimatias

so you say you wanna get so high, breathe me in like air tonight / let yourself get lost in the garden of my mind

→ white ;; frank ocean

i dreamt of storms, i dreamt of sounds / i dreamt of gravity keeping us around

→ ready or not ;; the fugees

i play my enemies like a game of chess / no stress where i rest if you smoke some sess

hc’s and misc. bits

mal likes to read fortunes—tarot, palms, astrology. to them, it’s a silly game…but for those brave enough to ask, there’s always an eerie accuracy to them, a thrum of power that beats through the air when they turn the cards. unlike cinead, they will never turn down a request to read fortunes, delighting in the schadenfreude that comes with being the messenger of fate.

more on astrology: they check their horoscope every morning (for a loose definition of morning). even though they don’t necessarily believe in it, if one of their siblings’ signs are low in the luck ranking, they won’t let them leave the house without their lucky item.

in keeping with what’s apparently a running animal motif, mallory has a unabashed fondness for cats. (they also have a remarkably similar temperament to the animal, but they vehemently deny this when their siblings poke fun at them for it.) they have a cat named metis, whom they love dearly.

mallory is a night owl; the witching hour is their favorite time of day. mornings, to them, are entirely overrated—there’s no sense of romance to them. or so they say.

they love dancing, and practice all styles one could imagine, from ballet to salsa to hip hop. it is not an uncommon sight to see them at the tempest, undulating in a dance that is unorthodox but undoubtedly alluring, liquid moonshine slipping deftly through the crowd.

drunk!mallory’s passion is singing. only their siblings have ever seen this.

drunk!mallory cannot sing. only their siblings have ever seen this.

to call mallory vain is not incorrect, per se, but also not entirely right. they take great pride in maintaining their appearance—their aesthetic is black and flow-y, lace and long skirts and dark lips—but it is more a matter of preference than vanity.

mallory enjoys mixing drinks, though they rarely indulge in them themself. it is not an entirely rare sight to see them creating concoctions at the bar of the tempest. they cannot stand coffee.

on occasion, mallory will spend the day simply wandering the city. they won’t talk to anyone, but they enjoy people-watching.

—

( They stood in order: Cinead, then Hea, then Mallory. It was a habit ingrained by age, ingrained by habit, and though it was in Mallory’s nature to push against convention, it was one of the things they never questioned.

Cinead, Hea, Mallory. Order, balance, chaos. Always three. Always one. )

—

( the whisper of silk on skin, the bite of a frosty morning. wind that whips through the trees, displacing all but the birds. fingers brushing through hair. catching someone’s gaze from across a busy intersection. the ghost of breath. fractals in snowflakes. )

—

( each time they take one of you, you do not clench your fists. you do not yell childishly, you do not reach out to your siblings

and make no mistake, they are your siblings, even if your blood traitorously refuses to acknowledge this

because

you know.

you know that fate will return you where you ought to be:

by each others’ sides. )