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[winterlocked-aus]

She scowled, hearing his name. It was the same as younger of her brothers, the quieter one, sweeter and dedicated to training. It was Ash who fought and shouted and raced. It was as though the gods were determined to upset her, and by the gods, they’ve succeeded. “Jon,” she echoed, saying it wrong. She knew it to be pronounced like Joan, and didn’t realize John was a different name entirely.

Still, she was a lady. More or less. Yseult pulled her skirts up just a tad, bending at the knee and curtsying, just like her sister had taught her. “Well, Jon, it’s an absolute pleasure.” She rose once more and held out her hand.

“You may escort me,” she said, expecting he would take it. Yseult prepared for the touch, hating that she couldn’t even lift the blindfold to see his hand. It was too dangerous, her mother had said. She couldn’t risk another accidental enchantment. With her free hand, Yseult reached up to adjust the cloth, scratching at a spot just above her cheek where it was especially itchy.

Sweet Summer thoughts >> Yseult and John >> Winterless AU.

If that was what accounted for gentlemanly manners, then John was remiss to admit that he was an ignorant farm boy. His family’s business did not often have him conversing with nobles, or even still, walking with them. So how was he to know better? Not that this girl was any nobility at all. But as he’d said before, the day was wasting. So with a sigh, he held out his arm to the girl, waiting for her to take it.

“My name is John,” he answered. “John Zephrin. It is my family’s land that you have stumbled upon.” He said his last name with some measure of pride. The Zephrin farm was well known for producing the finest crops, but it was possible a girl so young would have no knowledge of such things.

“Now, may I escort you home? Or are you going to continue to put up a fuss?”

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And she was. The second John grabbed her hand, Yseult planted her feet and pulled back. "Stoppit, what're ye doin'?" she demanded with disgust. "I just told ye I'm a Lady. Ye can't just grab ladies' hand's like that." Yseult stood upright again, hands on hips, and a well-executed sneer despite the fact that her eyes were covered. "Ye have t' offer yer arm. Or are ye such an ignorant farm boy that you don't know basic manners?"

Of course, this was all that Penelope had taught her. Yseult didn't know the first thing on her own, but she enjoyed being spoiled It was hard to deny that much about her. "I don' even know yer name, Boy," she remarked, determined to call him Boy even after he introduced himself. Until he stopped being so infuriating, anyway.

It would be so much easier if he just did as he was told. She'd be home and he'd be rid of her and they'd never see each other again and life would go on as normal. But, no, he had to make friends instead. Yseult wasn't in the business for making friends. No-one liked her enough to stay that long, and Penelope said boys were only good enough for romance in the end. 

Yseult may like the idea in theory, but, honestly. Among learning to fight with sticks and flower arrangements, who had time for romance anyway?

Sweet Summer thoughts >> Yseult and John >> Winterless AU.

John would have called himself many different things, but never would he claim to be a gentleman. He was a farmer’s son — he spent his days in fields among rows of crops with bees buzzing round his head. His father had only just started teaching him the about the role he was meant to take over once he came of age — how to converse with other tradesmen and how to handle money. He had even started to teach him how to read a little — only the important things, of course. But how to behave like a gentleman? How to treat a lady? Those were lessons which John had been remiss in.

It seemed this young girl was apt to be his teacher, though.

He frowned when she sneered at him, his amusement dissipating. “I am hardly a boy. I am older than you, in fact, so let’s refer to each other by our names, shall we, Yseult?”

Her name did not ring familiar, of course. John was well removed from most of Nore’s gossip, save for what his mother mentioned over dinner. Though if she were to mention the story of the young girl whose magic so impassioned a man that he attacked her, that might catch his attention…

He stepped forward, going to take her hand in his own, but remembered the dirt covering them. A quick wipe of them along his pants saw him declaring his palms now clean enough for her to hold. “Well, the day is getting no longer, so I suppose we shall be off.” He clasped his long fingers around her hand. “It should not be a long walk as long as we follow the trail into town. Perhaps an hour or so.”

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Ruby flushed at his laughter, and looked on with a glare -- well. She pressed her lips together and implied as best she could, considering her eyes were wrapped. He wasn't taking this seriously, like a proper gentleman would. Penelope had told her time and again men were meant to help women in their daily lives, so they wouldn't have to work as hard. They'd hold your arm crossing streets, they'd take you home when you're lost.

(Then again, men could be worse than the Dark Witch as well.)

"Ye don't have to say that's who I am. Just tell 'em me last name, and it's all. T'is a sorry house that don't know the Larksen name, boy." Which wasn't entirely untrue, when her father was one of the more charismatic rangers in the kingdom. But most people in Nore didn't know any ranger names, so it didn't count, in the end.

She shifted around, hating that she didn't know what he wanted with her. It was so simple to just walk her out of the field. He didn't even need to point, really -- she could find her way home from there. But he had to put up a fight, he wanted to know her name. 

Why did it matter?

Why?

"Yseult," she said with all but a snarl. Everyone in the kingdom knew what had happened to her. Or at least all the people she knew, which was a great many. "But that's the last time you'll find me polite t'ya." It was payment, more or less. He got her name, and she got the knowledge of a place to avoid for the rest of her life, lest she be pestered by pestersome boys.

Sweet Summer thoughts >> Yseult and John >> Winterless AU.

John couldn’t help but to laugh when the girl stuck her nose out at him. As if that were the clearest identifier of anyone in the Larksen family. John did not spend much time taking note of noses, and he imagined such a nose would not strike him as particularly distinguishable from any other with a similar shape.

"It matters because it is polite," he said simply. "And as lovely as your nose may be, it does make the matter of explaining my whereabouts to my family a bit odd. ‘Where have you been, John?’ ‘Ah, I was helping one of the Larksen girls home. The one with the really lovely nose.’"

He smiled awkwardly for all that she could not see it.

"So please, if you would tell me? I give you my word that I shall not use it to harm you in any way."

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"Might, ye say, but I know ya do." Ruby puckered her lips, trying to think of how to get around the question of her name. He'd start to mock her, or run away from her, or something else equally unpleasant. She didn't want to deal with whatever his reaction might be. The very thought of it made her shift around uncomfortably, and she dropped her eyes against her will.

"What's it matter? You know me mam. Ye know I'm a Lady. Ye see my knows is the same as every other Larksen out there -- we have a prominent and memorable type of nose." Two more words she used to seem more intelligent. 

It was true, though. The Larksens had an elegant, sloping nose that stuck out to a point and made their profiles memorable. Yseult's was no different. She was young and soft in her jawline to be sure, but her nose was elegant even now. And as if it would prove her point, Yseult stuck her nose in the air with a proud smile that almost came across as wicked. The shape of her mouth gave it a wolfish sort of look, hungry and sharp, and she had yet to learn that did nothing to make her look more trustworthy than she already did. if anything, it only made her less.

Sweet Summer thoughts >> Yseult and John >> Winterless AU.

John frowned at her answer. For what reason should she shield her eyes from him? What sort of magic did she possess? He started to ask as much, but then she was going on about her Ranger father again. Percy Larksen? John didn’t think the name particularly memorable, but he might recognize the man by sight. He did perk up at the mention of a flower shop, though. Now those he was familiar with. There were not terribly many florists in Nore, and John had visited every one at least once. He quite liked looking at the different sorts of flowers they had to offer, especially the ones that did not grow on their farm. But figuring out exactly which florist this young girl belonged to, that was the most pertinent question at the moment.

"Your last name is Larksen, you say? I might know of your mother. I am certain I have visited her shop before, and could lead you back if you like." John looked up towards the sky, the noonday sun still hanging above them. There was still a good amount of time before the dusk caught up to them.

"But I should like to know your name first, before we go anywhere. And why your gaze might drive me to attack you."

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sweets for the sweet || café AU with clara, maeve, john, and xavier

The weather was growing colder and colder, with more and more snow piling up outside the café’s door with every passing minute.  Clara gave a huff at the sight, angrily slamming the metal cup against the espresso machine before crunching the button for steam.  The loud, bubbling hiss drowned out the repeated Day of the Brothers’ songs that had been playing on loop for weeks over the speakers, and the scrawny barista’s face was set in a firm scowl as she watched the milk froth up.  If she heard one more hipster soloist’s attempt at ‘Put a Wreath on Your Door!’ she’d rip her hair out and just maybe kill everyone.

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"Would if I could," she said, but it came out a little over-enunciated in her annoyance. Wood if I cood, and it lost its strength. "Except that you're just as susceptible to my magic as everyone else, and you'll attack me." Yseult added a little huff at the end, as if that drove her point in further. Likely as not, it did not.

"And I'm not just any girl," she went on, leaning forward, and shifting her hand so they were more squarely on her hips. If she wasn't so small and her hair so ratty, she'd maybe pose a bit more of an impressive figure. As it was, she did not. "I'm a ranger's daughter sort of girl. My father is Sir Percy Larksen, which makes me Lady Larksen, even if my mam's just a florist. The best in the kingdom, too, mind you." She didn't want to state her own name, however, and lying didn't occur to her in the least.

If things went her way, the spindly farm boy would think of her sister, who was by and large much more well-known than Yseult herself -- though Yseult did not know Penelope's reputation as well as she liked to think. The young woman was promiscuous and flirtatious, often imposing and arrogant as well. But she was no doubt one of the most welcoming and helpful of Norns as well, known for her selflessness and poise as much as her shamelessness.

Meanwhile, Yseult was known as the girl who wore a blindfold, and sometime the girl whose magic drives men insane in their lust for her. She pressed her lips together and turned her head away, as though this was a waste of her time, and not at all making her uncomfortable. Almost as an afterthought, she mumbled out, "Besides, I had it off until I heard you nearby."

Sweet Summer thoughts >> Yseult and John >> Winterless AU.

What came through the fields was no potential threat, but a girl — a girl who appeared to be younger than John himself. Why, if he were to guess, he might imagine she was Lila’s age, if not younger. He almost laughed at having been afraid of that.

But then she was pouting thoroughly, with hands on her hips and her lips sticking out and- Wait, she had trespassed onto their land, not the other way around. Where did she get off acting so high and mighty?

"And you are just a girl," he replied, an annoyed little scowl settling onto his face. Now that he’d registered she was of no threat to him, he wondered why she was there in the first place. Their farm wasn’t so close to town that anyone without reason would be there. And there was the curious way she kept trying to avoid looking at him.

All in all, everything about the entire scenario was…strange.

She said she was a Ranger’s daughter, but she could be lying. Maybe to make herself appear more intimidating, for all the good it did. But it was at this moment that he realized she was lost, and that- Well, that made him feel a little more sympathetic towards her.

"If you were to remove your blindfold, it might be a bit easier to know where you are going."

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Forget Me Not (Part 2) // John & Yseult

They always met near the river. There had been no real reasoning behind their meeting place in the beginning, but over the years it had become unspoken law. The tree with the hollow in it, the one Yseult used to be small enough to sit in, was where met. Removed enough from the hustle and bustle of the river, they were allowed a relative sort of privacy, one where in the quiet they shared countless secrets. It was a place that would always be special to John. He wondered if Yseult felt the same. He hoped she did. It would be embarrassing to know he was the only one who could be so sentimental.

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Forget Me Not (Part 1) // John & Yseult

He felt silly sitting there on the floor — his sister giggling beside him and his mother watching with amusement — as he threaded the needle through the band once more. In his hands was a wreath of flowers — forget me nots and carnations and lilacs. The blooms had only just come in a few weeks ago, the petals only just starting to open, but John had a deadline to meet.

He hadn’t expected his little project to become a family affair, though.

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...Oh.

Her fear fled immediately, only to be replaced with something resembling indignance. Yseult moved forward until she could see him through the barley and wheat. she puffed her chest out, placed her hands on her hips, and only barely sopped herself from spitting her tongue at him.

"Yer just a boy!" she informed him. "Hardly any importance to ye, hm?" She curled her lips into a sneer, though the effect was ruined by the fact that she was looking demterminedly away from him, keeing her hayr over her eyes so there'd be no chance of him looking at them.

Without waiting for an introduction or retort from him, she bent to retrieve her blindfold from her boot and tied it around her head while speaking: "I'm a ranger's daughter. Ranger Larksen, t' be exact. Do ye know yer wheat fields are ghastly at givin directions? Completely and entirely ridiculous." She used big words to give off the appearance of being older, more important, and more educated than she really was. But for a girl who couldn't read, perhaps it was as good as she could hope to be.

Sweet Summer thoughts >> Yseult and John >> Winterless AU.

It wasn’t often that John found himself working alone. Usually his father was at his side, working away while keeping a careful eye on his progress. And while they worked, they would talk — well, his father would tell him stories, and John would listen. And oh, what wondrous stories they were. About animals from Sol, about the people of the deserts that came in to trade… John cherished those moments dearly, for all that he never admitted it. But now, with only his footsteps to accompany him, John found himself feeling very lonely.

His father had been away for a few weeks now, gone to Sol to trade goods for what he could get. John still wished he was old enough to come along, to learn the trade of his father. But at the age of thirteen, he was apparently still too young.

John would beg to differ.

Using his magic to push the dirt back into its proper place, John noticed the sound of footsteps approaching. “Lila, is that you?” he said, a tone of exasperation in his voice. Lila, his sister, was meant to be helping his mother with the laundry. But she was prone to wandering, especially when chores were involved. When he was met with no answer, though, he gave a bit of a frown. He reached out with his magic, letting the feeling of earth surround him like a shield. He could protect himself if necessary, so long as there was dirt or rock nearby.

"Who is that? Who is there?" he asked, listening closely for a response. He was the man of the house while his father was away, and he would do whatever it took to keep his mother and sister safe.

Hopefully it did not mean giving up his life in the process.

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Sweet Summer thoughts >> Yseult and John >> Winterless AU.

Yseult was never allowed to grow her hair out much further than her shoulders. Of course, that didn't stop her from trying. She was eight years old when she got twigs and birds stuck in it, made even worse when she wrestled with the blasted blindfold she had to wear everywhere. It was more than a little difficult to walk when she could barely see the sliver of light peeking through the space between her nose and the cloth, and nothing but impossible to see where she was going.

It was for her safety.

but that didn't mean she had to like it.

And when ma and the boys were out, she'd hike up her skirts, muddy her boots, and head down any road leading off from their home on the edge of town and go exploring in the countryside and farms, where she could run around with her eyes open and not a soul in the world to stop her.

Today's target was a barley field nearly a mile from her home. There might have been a cow nearby. She didn't know for sure -- couldn't hear one, anyway -- but it smelled like one, to be sure. Yseult didn't exactly mind, however. With two older brothers and a ranger for a father, she knew worse smells than a cow and its dung.

What sparked her attention, however, was the footsteps of someone else in the field. It was so massive, such a thing seemed almost impossible. But she was also terribly small, and terribly lost, and didn't know what to do much besides heading towards the footsteps and asking for a wagon-ride home.

[winterlocked-aus]

I think it's dead...

Modern!AU ——> Maeve & Cynwrig

"Fuck," Cynwrig cursed under his breath, smacking the side of his phone with his palm. "Fucking shit. This is the bloody third time this month…”

Maeve stood across the counter, watching as Cynwrig abused the phone he’d only bought a week ago. She didn’t understand how he went through them so fast — probably something to do with whatever odd things he got up to in his basement. She’d never gone down there, but she wondered just went on down there. Sort of.

"W-what happened?" she asked quietly.

"I had it out while I was in the basement," he said absent-mindedly, trying to force the thing to come on. "Had my music playing and then all of a sudden…nothing. How do they get away with selling this shit?  It’s fucking robbery, I swear."

"Y-You didn’t…d-do anything to it?"

"Of course not! I told you I- Well, it was awful close to some magnets I had down there. Might’ve fucked up the battery." He turned the phone over, doing his best to pry open the metal casing. "I can probably fix it."

Maeve thought to herself, "That’s what you said the last time."

"Eh, I’ll probably have to take it down to the shop to fix it," he said with a shrug. "Worse comes to worse, I’ll get a new one. Now, what were we talking about?"

"Y-you mentioned t-that…that you needed help around the shop…"

"Oh, yeah, right. I’d been thinking of hiring someone on, but I dunno. Seems like a hassle. I’ll probably end up doing all the work myself anyway."

"M-maybe…" she said, her eyes cast downward.

Cynwrig raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t thinking of applying, were you?”

"I-I… I mean, if you don’t want the help… I-I wouldn’t want to be a burden. A-and I get busy at the bakery sometimes, s-so…so maybe I’m not the best person-"

Cynwrig held up a hand, stopping her short before she could stumble over anymore words. “So that means you won’t be in my space all the time?”

She shook her head. “N-not unless y-you need me.”

"And you’ll do anything I say? No questions asked?"

"W-well, I-"

"It’s a yes or no answer."

"Y-yes?"

Cynwrig dropped his hand and nodded. “Alright. You got the job then. Come in tomorrow ‘round noon. I can probably get you started with some inventory. Something simple that you can’t fuck up.”

"R-really?" A little smile started to work its way onto her face.

"Yeah, did I stutter? Wait… Forget I said that. But yeah, I’m not shitting you. Show up at noon tomorrow or don’t show up at all. Your choice."

She nodded, her smile blowing into a full-blown grin. “I-I’ll be here.”

And if she didn’t mention the muffins she intended to bring with her, well, they could deal with that in the morning.

[winterlocked-aus]

HEY LAVINIA, ALL THE RANGERS ARE DEAD AGAIN. ALL OF THEM. YEP. AND THEN TARO COMES LIMPING OUT OF THE MISt

Please Note: This contains death, mentions of cannibalism, and body horror.

                                               ❆ ❆ ❆

Lavinia stumbled through Alvasgard now, hardly able to see. The storm still tore at the forest behind her. Months had passed. Maybe more. Either way, it had been too long. They didn’t have the rations. They didn’t have the food.

It went the same way as it had a dozen years prior. A storm came up in the midst of winter, almost out of nowhere. It was worse, though. Worse than it had ever been. Ice settled on the trees above, blackening the already dark forest, and weighed down the team. Lavinia ushered them quickly. If they stopped, they were lost. The first cave she found became shelter for however long it might last.

Once the food ran out, the weakest horses were the first to go. A few brave souls tried to venture out and hunt, but if any returned, they were frozen and half-dead already. None of them lasted the night, and though everyone wanted to perform a proper funeral, Lavinia knew they couldn’t afford the luxury. They might be able to use the pyres for heat, but it would only be if they had enough meat to last the week. Only if the horses weren’t enough for the week.

(They never were.)

Spinner had been the first to go. He was Lavinia’s truest companion, the most beautiful of horses. But she would not allow anyone else to suffer where she herself would not.

Poor Syd, poor Jem. They were children. Too young to know the taste of their beloved steeds. Too young to see them slaughtered before them. No matter what mercy Lavinia showed, there was no kind way to kill a horse. And poor Syd had to watch. Gentle, sweet Syd, who only killed for food. But it was always game or livestock. Deer or chicken or cattle. Never a horse. Never his own horse, to be sure.

And by the time the horses were gone, more than half the rangers had frozen already. Not even funeral pyres could keep them warm. Not even blocking the cave as best they possibly could. Dehydration was another killer, but disease was the worst of all.

Christopher caught cold once. It moved to wreak havoc on the lungs of everyone else, until there was frozen vomit and waste at the far edges of the cave. A dozen more rangers were its victim, and Lavinia knew she was blessed to have not been among them. It did not make it easier to bear her grief.

The men looked to her as a ruler now. No order went questioned, no suggestion went ignored. Lavinia’s word was law, because she had survived this before. Because she knew how this would go. But, she hoped, it would end earlier than it had before.

Time still passed, Rangers still survived, though still more died. Alistair and Christopher were not the last to go, but she wept openly nonetheless. Lavinia refused to eat for days, if it meant she had to taste them. It was only when she collapsed that she consented to take a bite. (And retched everything up less than an hour later.)

Jem was the last one to go. Ey were such a strong person. Admirable. Gentle, when the mood struck em. Kind when the opportunity rose. She had always believed in em, always knew ey were more than all they seemed. Ey leaned against their shoulder, bony and tiny and fragile, and she hummed songs while ey slept. 

"Captain?" ey said, moving to look up at her. 

"Sh-hh…" she insisted, and ran her fingers through eir hair. "Don’t speak. Don’t waste your energy."

Ey tried to protest, but the grumbles turned into a pathetic cough. She pressed eir head to her shoulder, sqeezing her eyes shut. 

"Sh-hh," she cooed. ”Sh-hh.”

"I—" Jem coughed. "I’m sorry——Cap-c-Captain."

"I think we’ve reached the point," she said, "that you can call me by my name."

But he never did.

Lavinia could feel the life leave him. She let out a screeching wail, cursing the gods and the forest and everything else that had ever existed for taking such a child. Such a good ranger, such a wonderful knight. She screamed at the sky. She howled at the wind. And in time, Lavinia couldn’t tell if the screaming was her own voice, or just the storm around her.

                                               ❆ ❆ ❆

It was June when the storms let up. A year and a half had passed, not that she knew. It felt too much of an eternity. Too much time on her own. She had scrounged for berries on the floor, ate anything she found without bothering to cook it first. It was mere habit that kept her alive — if it could only be called that.

Weakly, limping, she made it back to the Wastes. Weather-torn and barren. Disgustingly empty. As if there wasn’t enough wrong with the world.

It took another moment before she realized the nothingness was mist. The emptiness before her was simply fog marring the view.

In a way, she was grateful. Lavinia didn’t know if she had the strength to see much further past her hand. If she had the courage to see what had become of Nore.

"Ho, there!" a voice cried out of the mist.

Lavinia was sure that she was dead.

Until she saw who it was. Mounted on an elk like some sort of god, his hair longer and whiter than ever. There was no anger in his voice, no joy or laughter in it either. "Captain," he said. "You look like you’ve nearly died."

Was it disgust she heard? Disgust for her current state, and the fact that she still lived? "You may as well finish it, then." She held no sorrow, nor any challenge. Lavinia spoke the truth. If Taro wanted so badly to be the captain, he should gain it the way they had in days of old.

And end her suffering to "I bare my throat to you," she said, and almost marvelled at how weak the voice was. Could it really be coming from her? "Pray you, Sir. Please make it quick." It wouldn’t take much energy. He could surely get it over fast.

She looked up at the old man, and pleaded with him. Lavinia would weep now, had she any tears left to shed. But once Jem was gone, there was nothing worse the world could do. Nothing. Nothing. She had suffered it all.

[winterlocked-aus]

"I'm sorry about that," came her instinctual reply. Whenever anything went less than perfect, she apologized. Whenever anyone complained, she apologized. Whenever someone so much as looked at her, she had to fight not to open her mouth and mutter out a sorry. "Has---h-has there been any progress at all?" Despite herself, Maeve had been following the story of the arson case. It was a struggle to gather information, something she did herself whenever researching. Information was easier to handle than people, and it fascinated her just how much it was, and there was always more to be found. That, and she really wanted the case to be solved.

Maeve had a similar day herself, but she wasn't happy about it herself. She wanted to be at the bakery as long as possible. In part, it was so she'd be able to earn more, to better feed HM, and to better repair the house. And, for once, she honestly would like to one day pay the rent in full. 

"It, um, it was all right," she answered, just like she always did before elaborating. Everything was all right. Everything was okay. "Um, someone came in today to talk to Mr. Piest. They ordered a wedding cake, and, ah, I delivered a few muffins to someone in the business district." She was intimidated by that area of the city. With the high rises and skyscrapers, men in suits and fancy cars...it was so far above her. Maeve didn't know how anyone knew what to do when everything you did seemed to be judged by those around you. It was easier behind a counter with an apron around her waist.

Moments [Modern AU Maeve & Alistair]

[winterlocked-aus]

Maeve was't properly equipped for the cold. She had a single threadbare jacket, old and worn, and her workboots had enough holes in them that never really kept the rain water out in the long run. And that, coupled with the holes in her socks, made for very miserable walks home. Especially on the days she didn't bring HM with her.

Not that Maeve would complain. Alistair called over to her, and Maeve turned to greet him with a smile, shy as it was. "G--good evening." While he caught up with her, Maeve crossed her arms over herself, trying to hide the fact that she was covered in goosebumps. It was a cold day, no matter what she wore, and it didn't help that she didn't eat enough to keep herself warm either.

Still, she enjoyed having someone to keep her mind off things, and to make the walk much more enjoyable. "Was--was your day okay, Mister Henry?" 

Moments [Modern AU Maeve & Alistair]

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M A E V E   M A R I O N

Age: 21

Occupation: Baker

Birthday: September 22

Notable Features: Scarred face, rabbit-like features, stringy yellow hair

Maeve does not exist on paper. She never attended formal school, never applied for a credit card, and never even thought to register to vote. In her mind, that’s for people far more educated than she. The man who owns the bakery she helps run pays her in cash, which she then gives to her landlord. Both are kind men, and accept the fact that she can’t afford to pay enough rent. So the baker gives her the tips at the end of the day, and the landlord has her paint murals for him to pay off what she can’t afford. Two paintings a month, and she’s debt-free. Of course, he sells them for hundreds and hundreds of dollars, and ends up making a profit out of it anyway.

She shops almost exclusively at thrift stores for her clothes, though for her eighteenth birthday, she treated herself to a brand-new, ten dollar sun hat. It’s now her favorite article of clothing, and it hides her scars quite well.

She lives in a dangerous neighborhood, and more often than not she faces trouble on the way home. But thanks to her kindness, willingness to feed and house others, and her unusual pet, someone usually steps in, be they an officer, a gang member, or just a passer by. (Said pet is, of course, His Majesty. And everyone can’t get enough of the adorable little goat.)

Her home itself is a tiny studio apartment in a shoddy, run-down building. And the only reason hers is the nicest is because she repaired it herself — and she’s offered to repair other apartments as well, free of charge. Maeve replastered the walls and painted them all sorts of colors, and, when she was done, she began writing on the walls to sort out her thoughts. She has a collection of old music disks she finds on sale, and a rarely-stocked kitchen that she loves to work in. The view out her window is only a brick wall, but she hardly spends time looking at it. When not working, Maeve is reading or singing to herself as she writes something new.

[winterlocked-aus]

I S A B E L L E " R U B Y " L A R K

Age: 24

Occupation: Porn Star, Magazine Model

Notable Features: Piercing Eyes, Pointed Nose, Elegant Walk, Wolfish Smirk, Cropped Black Wig when she Goes Out

Birthday: 18 April

Ruby’s family was well-off at the start. Her father was a police officer, and her mother had a small business selling flowers. Her two brothers were top-scoring students and athletes, and her sister was well on the way to becoming an actress herself. And it wasn’t just a passing fad — Penelope was serious about the art, and studied hard long before she brought up the idea of drama school to her parents. Ruby herself wanted to follow in Penelope’s footsteps. After all, she idolized her sister to the point that she fought against her parents when Penelope came home pregnant one day, despite the obvious consequences.

From there it was all downhill. Penelope dropped out of school and ran away from home. One of the boys suffered irreparable brain damage from a car crash, and her mother started drinking to cope while her father threw himself into his work. He never cheated or slept around, but he was incredibly neglectful, to be sure.

The bills stopped getting paid, Penelope stopped calling home, and soon, Ruby was the only one making sure her mother even got up in the mornings. She had to take care of the family somehow, and as she didn’t have the time for a part-time job, she took to the streets in skimpy clothing, learning the tricks of the trade as she went along and befriending other sex workers as she got older. They went to bars and chatted about who to avoid and where the best-paying customers were. They warned her about working for a pimp, and they made sure she never got into any hard drugs.

Stradden changed that. At age nineteen, he offered her a job in a film. He was a budding director, and she was a beautiful young woman unable to pass up the chance to earn thousands of dollars for only a few hours of work.

But that one job threw her into the porn industry for good, and men recognised her on the streets. Still, Ruby didn’t begrudge the job. It paid every medical and electric bill that came her way, and even allowed her to move her family to a better home. Even if she never heard from her sister again, Ruby made a living doing exactly what she was good at.

A natural genius and a beautiful, wealthy woman, she keeps herself more or less away from harassment, even hiring body guards when necessary. She genuinely enjoys the work at times, and rarely has complaints, even if it’s rare that she’ll get work outside of the current genre of film she works in now. Ruby still has her friends, and she has more than enough money to live comfortably, and that’s all she could ever ask for now.

Besides, who can complain when people pay you to wear thousands of dollars worth of clothing when just walking around town?

[winterlocked-aus]

Snow and Stardust

She had never been close enough to see his eyes, not to really look. Now that their faces were mere centimetres apart she could see. He was a liar. He felt things; he cared. The emotions ran deep, deep, so deep, but oh, so strong.

Elena would never be fooled by that wicked smile again. It was all there, in his eyes.

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