04-06-2018, 02:30 AM
(This post was last modified: 04-10-2018, 02:41 AM by arrow.)
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[div style="borderwidth=0px; width:385px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12pt;"][font=arial] LUCY
[size=8pt]- ̗̀ [i]greenfinch and linnet bird, nightingale, blackbird - how is it you sing? ̖́ -
 lucienne adele fournier
 her name means light bc she is the light of my life
 her constant mood is concerned. she's a little mother bird, tending to her friends and colleagues with incredible softness and care. she spends so much time looking after others, she rarely has the energy to do so for herself
 her hair is spun of gold
 cough president of the christine daae defense league achoo
 believes in fairytales. love's true kiss and happily ever afters. she believes in kindness and goodness and humanity. she'd still be putting out cookies for santa had her mother not used his nonexistence to explain why lucy didn't get presents during christmas time
 her mother rules the ballet troupe of a french opera house with an iron fist. lucy was brought up in a world of dance and song, lights and applause, smoke and mirrors. her feet were corrected more times than she was hugged. more yells than bedtime stories reached her ears
 " ta gueule! the blood in your shoes is your feet crying at your poor arch in the kitri's grand jeté. again!"
 mother knows best: the mantra that dictated lucy's childhood. save for dance lessons, she was raised apart from other children her age so she could devote herself wholly to her studies and ballet. for eighteen years mme fournier chose the clothes lucy was to wear, the style for her hair, the prompt 5 p.m. curfew
 fluent in french, english, and sign language
 delights in calico critters, cabbage patch kids, drinking grape juice from wine glasses, conspiracy theories, slasher movies; loves sculpture, lace, ribbons, curls, girls
 curiosity to rival alice's
 loves knock knock jokes, has a habit of explaining jokes that anyone with a third grade education could comprehend, but she has such a darling laugh it's excusable
 braver than she could possibly believe, especially where her loved ones' wellbeing is concerned
 appreciates and admires so much! holds so much love in her tiny body!!
 sweet little lark held captive by a cage, by a mother, by an opera house. still she sings
[align=center][div style="width: 450px; border: none;"][size=8pt][color=black][size=7pt]☾ ` ░ don't be afraid cecilia, i'm the satellite and you're the sky:. ° ✧
[align=center][align=center][div style="0px; width:450px; height:auto; text-align: justify; font-size: 9pt; line-height:13px;"] ![[Image: image.jpg]](https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/429166548284866560/431480940129288195/image.jpg)
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just u wait
[align=center][div style="width: 450px; border: none;"][size=8pt][color=black][size=7pt]☾ ` ░ don't be afraid cecilia, i'm the satellite and you're the sky:. ° ✧
im scared
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[align=center][table] why | why | why | [/table]
[div style="borderwidth=0px; width:385px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12pt;"][font=arial] LUCY'S ANGEL OF THE OPERA AU
[size=8pt]- ̗̀ how did i live? was i kind enough and good enough? did i love enough? ̖́ -
 they say love makes a person strong, stronger than they themselves could ever imagine
 violette beaumont (an up and coming opera sensation) was a new addition to the opéra lumineux's roster and at the mere sight of her, lucy's stomach bloomed with butterflies. her chestnut brown curls, her skin soft as cream, her voice - lucy would have done anything that voice asked of her
 the two became instantly inseparable, from fluttering on pointe across the stage in perfect synchronicity to exploring the streets of paris hand in hand
 violette was, in many ways, everything lucy was not. she was bold, a streak of brilliance in the midnight sky. she was as impassioned as she was impatient, fearless as she was defiant. and oh how lucy loved her for it
 though for all that violette loved lucy, she despised lucy's mother. or, more precisely, the way madame fournier dictated her daughter's every move. violette saw the flicker of fear in lucy's eye when the former suggested they shirk her curfew (" it's just one night, birdie, the old bat won't even notice- birdie?") - the idea was quickly abandoned. from the street below (a stranger allowed in the fourniers' apartment? never), violette spied the steel bars fencing off lucy's bedroom window from the outside world
 hence why violette hatched a plan: she'd sweep her little lucy off her feet and they'd run away together. where? it didn't matter. so long as they were together, nothing else would ever matter. when was the issue. and, of course, convincing lucy
 though, as it turned out, lucy wouldn't need much convincing, as she'd been piecing together a similar proposition herself. six months ago, lucy wouldn't have dreamed it for a second - overwhelmed with her mother's repercussions, her fears of what lies beyond the opera's walls. but now, with violette at her side, nothing couldn't be dream
 so it was decided. immediately after an evening show, the two would meet in violette's dressing room and make their escape. the opera had just begun when lucy slipped into violette's room, donning a black cape, a pair of britches she didn't even know she'd owned - clothing her mother would've rather died than let her be seen in. unbeknowst to her, however, mme fournier wasn't so easily fooled. the woman wasn't blind, you see. she saw the sheen of enchantment in lucy's eye before the girl even knew she had fallen. mme fournier snuck in behind her daughter, and mercilessly berated the child. with a swoop of her arm, she opened a door in the wall that even lucy (who knew no place better than the opera house) wasn't aware existed. before lucy could gather her wits, two cold, taloned hands landed on her chest, launching her down rough stone stairs into the depths below. she couldn't see the door close again - her vision too obscured by what she later discovered to be blood - but she certainly heard it. a horrid, screeching sound. frighteningly definite
 it was so dark down there, wherever there was. too dark to find her way back up those steps. too deep to answer violette's calls. though not too far to catch the confusion and despair in her love's cries
 violette, thinking lucy had gotten cold feet, left that evening. without her. or at least, that's what lucy presumes. she never heard the girl's voice again, echoing through the concert hall or gracing the dressing room. and it's easier that way, to assume violette gave up on her, than to imagine what her mother might've done to her had she stayed
 lucy never found her way out of the cellars, though she did explore them in their entirety - learned their twists and turns like the back of her hand. what she didn't know was how she changed. her skin, once a pale ivory, was now a pallid whitish hue. her blue irises became clouded by a milky haze in attempt to adjust to the darkness. and then, of course, there were the scars. from tentative fingers exploring the planes of her face, this lucy had some idea of. her head had been met with a pillow of stone as she fell, cutting her scalp, her forehead, her once-rosy cheeks. where soft skin had been were now a bouquet of scars - some raised and gnarled, others flat and smooth. as if pitying her, the cellars gave her one conciliation: a mask, not unlike one she'd wear to the opera's masquerades. one gift, to hide the terrors of her appearance
 sometimes the opera lumineux's dancers say they sense an extra lightness to their step, as if they were being willed into flight. visiting stars report hearing a sweet voice drifting through their rooms. most days, it is light and airy, filled with a hope and nostalgia that makes you long for days past and opportunities missed. some days, few as they are, the voice is so distinctly sad, it's said to make listeners cry the first time they hear it
 whenever it is inquired about, old madame fournier appears from the shadows (the only place she seems to frequent these days, after being relieved of her position as the opera's ballet mistress and - according to most - having dipped into lunacy) to whisper " she's here - the angel of the opera"
 ghost au to the au mme fournier's push, lucy's fall - the poor girl's light is extinguished on impact. and down in the cellars, it's far too dark and far too deep for angels to venture, to carry her to eternal sleep. so her spirit wanders the underground passages, alone. try as the demons might - for they are much closer and visit often - they cannot woo her away from her opera house. from there, at least, she can still hear the swell of the overture, the pitter patter of pointe shoes, the sweetness of song. from there, she can close her eyes and imagine herself in their place, as if it were only yesterday she was there herself, ready to run off in her lover's arms, happy and free as a little bird
[align=center][div style="width: 450px; border: none;"][size=8pt][color=black][size=7pt]☾ ` ░ don't be afraid cecilia, i'm the satellite and you're the sky:. ° ✧
![[Image: 6356207715633465931838475274_63561455845...ession.gif]](http://cdn1.theodysseyonline.com/files/2015/03/16/6356207715633465931838475274_63561455845266421710692985_Michael%20dead%20expression.gif)
how. dare. you. good side my BUTT
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04-12-2018, 04:02 AM
(This post was last modified: 04-14-2018, 05:47 AM by arrow.)
[align=center][table] why | why | why | [/table]
[div style="borderwidth=0px; width:385px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12pt;"][font=arial] CHARLIE
[size=8pt]- ̗̀ before i make a mistake, before i lead with the worst of me ̖́ -
— charles jane traynor
— tw: mentions of alcohol, drugs, abuse, manipulation, eating disorders (bulimia)
— mary traynor was a good woman who gave birth to a good son. but a woman is a camel is a someone that can only take so much, and charlie's father leaving her at the altar, seven months pregnant, was the straw that broke her back
— by charlie's first birthday, she'd taken up cigarettes, exhaling smoke as she fed him his bottle. she stumbled into his first parent-teacher conference twenty-nine minutes late, breath drenched in booze, hands a little too adventurous during an apologetic hug with his teacher. charlie told him there'd been a death in the family, it was the first time something like this had happened, to please, please not make any calls, everything would be fine - they was the first lies he'd ever told. green eyes searched for her in a sea of smiling faces at his eighth grade graduation, only to come home and find her splayed out on the floor, high as a kite on who knows what
— for as long as he can remember, charlie's been the parent of the household. he balances their budget, keeps track of their bills, packs his mom's lunches for work, cleans up after her when she forgets vodka upsets her stomach, tucks her in after long nights
— mary can't live without him, and she makes sure he knows it. her mood changes with the tide, from threatening to kick him out of the house if he misses curfew again to hugging him tight, lovingly, as if nothing were wrong From yelling at the top of her lungs about all she'd done for him, accusing him of ingratitude, of cruelty, to desperately begging him to never leave as tears pour
— at home, he's always on edge, never sure of what to expect when his mom walks through the door
— but she's his mom. what can charlie do but love her?
— unsurprisingly, he developed anxiety as a young child. the illness chased after him into adulthood, rearing its ugly head whenever things start looking up - and even when they aren't. he also suffers from self-esteem lower than the grand canyon's greatest depth - mary's much to thank for that
— starting in middle school and continuing through high school, charlie was picked on relentlessly. first it was for the lanky frame he couldn't quite yet control; for the voice a little too high, a little too feminine. then for the habit he developed of stuffing his face with twinkies and mini donuts during lunch before slinking into the bathroom for a little too long, the wretching sounds that emanated from the stall a little too loud. "upchuck charlie," they'd tease as he was cornered in the hall. "don't catch the queer," they'd seethe as he was pummeled
— has bruises on his left hand, at the knuckles of his index and ring finger
— charlie holds himself to a standard too high for even his 6' 1" to reach. he doesn't want to cause a fuss, make a stir, create a problem. he wants to be a perfect son, a perfect student, a perfect man. it's no wonder real charlie can never live up to his imagination
— adores musical theatre. this boy loves to sing and dance and isn't half bad
— didn't listen to spring awakening until he was 16 bc of all the cursing (absolute moritz fanboy, doesn't know if he wants to be ernst or hanschen more)
— loyal to a san andreas fault, refuses give up on people
— sweet, respectful, resilient, loving, hardworking, empathetic, forgetful
— well-mannered boy, doesn't even put his elbows up on tables
— nerd alert! charlie has a knack for numbers, making math and physics a breeze. and once you've got memorization down, chemistry and biology are two pieces of heavily frosted chocolate cake
— wants to go into broadway acting medicine when he gets older. he's stitched up his own wounds before - and his mom's as well - and keeps a first aid kit worthy of a surgeon underneath the kitchen sink. plus, the idea of helping people for a profession isn't exactly unappealing
— chronically late to, everything
— adamant about staying away from drugs and alcohol. charlie knows all too well their consequences and he isn't interested
— slightly salty about high school musical's false advertising
— hates airplanes, prefers his feet on the nice, stable ground thanks all the same
— the boy is ! a !! puppy !!!
— other events: ed damaging his (singing) voice, getting psychiatric help, attending eda meetings, mary getting arrested
— arcs: reaching out, recognizing love vs. abuse, coming to terms w bisexuality, standing up for himself/gaining confidence, finding a chosen family
[align=center][div style="width: 450px; border: none;"][size=8pt][color=black][size=7pt]☾ ` ░ don't be afraid cecilia, i'm the satellite and you're the sky:. ° ✧
pats him wiht love and love and more love
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tracking and stealing charlie thanks
[align=center][div style="background=transparent; borderwidth=0px; bordercolor=; width: 500px; text-transform: lowercase; line-height: 100%; font-family: verdana; font-size: 7pt; text-align: justify"][align=center][i] — sometimes i feel cold, even paralyzed
my interior world needs to sanitize
[align=center][table] why | why | why | [/table]
[div style="borderwidth=0px; width:385px; text-align: justify; font-size: 12pt;"][font=arial] NICHOLAS
[size=8pt]- ̗̀ it's me, ya boi ̖́ -
 nicholas frederick bloom
 ghosts don't exist, change his mind
 loves cryptids though, would really love to meet one
 man of logic. doesn't trust things just because people say they're so. he wants hd photo evidence, 3d diagrams, flowcharts, primary and secondary sources
 lives in flannels, jean jackets, and tube socks
 doesn't not believe, just wants some reliably observable, testable, repeatable, and falsifiable evidence, that's all
 dad jokes are his only jokes
 uses humor as a defense and coping mechanism, a 2-for-1
 too tall (6' 6")
 really not afraid of the dark, thrives in the absence of light, feeds off its fear
 horror movie logic is both his most and least favorite type of logic
 loyal as all heck, would never leave a partner in the field alone
 stubborn, skeptical, decisive, adventurous, rude (but just to ghosts n demons, really likes to give em one), curious, endearingly irreverent
 has one (1) Believer bestie, which is really all the Believing he can stand in an evening
 goes ghost/cryptid/demon hunting on the reg
 would really like to visit a tomb one of these days, and not just so he could wear his indiana jones hat, no
 true crime is also up his alley, finds human nature and its capability of cruelty fascinating
 demons are baloney
 au[sup]or is it[/sup] nicholas be a demon boi. specifically, phenex, a great marquis of hell. phenex, nick, geddit he tried
 still, demons are baloney
[align=center][div style="width: 450px; border: none;"][size=8pt][color=black][size=7pt]☾ ` ░ don't be afraid cecilia, i'm the satellite and you're the sky:. ° ✧
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