LA FEE VERTE | OPEN, JOINING

[body.]

[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"][align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"][tw for violence and injuries]

When Grandpa didn't call his name down the street, limping along the ditch with forgiving arms wide open, Elwin assumed his exile is permanent this time.

It stings all the same, despite being the fifth time in two months he's been thrown out or run away. Grandpa, a tiny man that barely comes up to Elwin's chest, has a booming, powerful voice that shakes the whole neighborhood when he yells, and rattles his body to the core. Nothing is more numbing than a man with the voice of Zeus himself instilling the fact that you are little more than a failure and a delinquent (or a good-for-nothing son of a bitch, as Grandpa so gently put it) into your brain. He believes it, alright. How could he not, after that display?

Usually their petty fights resolve an hour or two after Elwin storms out, slamming the screen door so hard it comes off its hinges. Usually, Grandpa will sit and huff and puff in the parlor until he feels bad enough to come looking for him, but not this time. This time, there wasn't any screen door to slam. It had gone up in flames, just like the rest of the house.

Well, Grandpa came home to the smoldering pile of rubble that night, took one look at the ash, then at Elwin's dirty, blackened body, and socked him so hard he fell flat and saw stars. They got into a screaming match—which was rather one-sided, given that Elwin's jaw had popped out of place with all of Grandpa's effort. All he could really do was whine and moan in return, clutching his face.

When Grandpa took another swing at him, hollering bloody murder, Elwin knew it was time to bolt. Holding his chin with one hand, using the other to push himself up, he fled the scene with little more than the clothes on his back and the matches in his pockets.

His face ached like nothing else, but he didn't want to stop running til he was far out of sight and out of the village. He cried angry tears the whole way, trying to keep his sobbing to a minimum to quell the pain in his jaw.

Flintlock is not unknown to him, but he's never strayed this far before. Elwin would be breathing a sigh of relief if it didn't make him scream; he's glad to see the lights, and know that there's somewhere warm to hole himself up in just a few yards ahead. Of course, he'd have to wait for permission to enter, but he's banking on the fact that they might take pity on him, due to the current state of his face.

But it's late at night, and there doesn't seem to be many people milling about, or none that he can see (save for the smattering of what he assumes to be guards or stragglers in the distance.) He wants to be able to explain himself, and worm his way into a bed, but in his state, he can't get a word out without more hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

So, Elwin decides he might as well stick his fingers in his mouth and do it himself.

It's not easy to do, compared to his experiences reducing the jaws and shoulders of men and women in his neighborhood, mostly because his own body is fighting against it to prevent anymore unnecessary pain. But he manages, and boy, does it hurt—such a harsh, shrill shriek rings out in the night, one might think he's being murdered.

It's over in a matter of minutes, and suddenly, a wave of sudden calm washes over him. Elwin lets out this dreamy little sigh, sinks to his knees, and sticks his face right into the snow. Ahhh. Sweet relief.

[EDMUND.]

    The graveyard shift was always the most unbearable of jobs when in the midst of the winter. After a small handful of years calling Flintlock his home, Edmund knew all too well the perilous conditions that the peak of rigid rock and snow provided. But, with that being said, his experience on the mountaintop also provided knowledge of the best places to linger to avoid being enveloped with a biting gust of wind. He didn't need to stand ankle-deep within the middle of a flurry if he could sit on the top step of the porch where the stability of the Lodge's four walls blocked at least some of that wind chill.

A lantern sat beside him, the dim flickering of a single flame barely lighting up the space around him as a gloved hand fumbled about his lighter. Finally, a feeble spark lit up, reminding Eddie that it'd not be long before the lighter would run out of fluid and leave Ed without a means to light up his cigarettes. That would be a worry for another day. His free hand clasped a cigarette between shaky fingertips, lighting it up before inhaling a deep breath. It was the single best thing to warm him up in a nighttime as bitter as this.

The sound of a shrilling shriek sent Eddie out of his exhausted reverie, gaze darting up suspiciously at the sound. It sounded so inhuman, yet most definitely out of the ordinary. It wasn't a wolf trapped in a foothold, was it? No, that shrill sounded too human. Ed was quick to stand up, lantern in hand, as he tread carefully down the stairs. He knew to remain careful; the light in his grasp, handles squeaking as the base rocked gently back and forth, made him nothing more than a target in the darkness. His hand hovered over his holstered pistol, squinting as he took careful steps through the snow.

And finally, it'd been not the lantern but the pale moonlight which lead Eddie to a mass in the snow, accompanied by Brendan who had been swift to arrive on the scene. A body, face-first into the ground as if he had already died. Ed's brows bunched together as he hummed questioningly beneath his breath, deciding to finally inquire, ❝ Is he... alive? ❞

His features were grim, lacking any real, genuine concern in his voice. After all, he wasn't here to make sure this stranger was alive or okay or just having a hypothermia-induced nap in the snow - he was making sure that the people in that Lodge in the distance behind him could sleep sound tonight without being interrupted by an unprovoked attack. He could never be too sure of people's intentions, and so he stood a few feet away, hand unmoved from where it remained readily hovering over his holster. Even if this person looked as good as dead.

// welcome to flintlock !

[align=center][div style="width: 350px; text-align: justify; font-family:verdana; font-size: 7px;"][spoiler=tags :: updated 01/07]basics.
⋟ edmund theodore stirling-moray // ed, eddie, moray
⋟ goes by the name edmund moray
⋟ male // he/him
⋟ twenty four // ages real time // born seventh august
⋟ skipper of flintlock lodge // formerly a traveler with his family
⋟ mob boss of the stirling crime family
⋟ joined FL two years ago

appearance.
⋟ faceclaim - finn cole
⋟ voice claim - finn cole
⋟ 5'9ft // stocky, well-built frame
⋟ muted blue eyes and dirty blonde hair
⋟ physical health - 80% // current injuries: stitches on side of head where his head was slammed into ice and a chest infection following a near-drowning experience.
⋟ mental health - 70% // depression and deluded thoughts

personality.
⋟ quiet in nature but confident in himself
⋟ completely fearless, almost foolishly so
⋟ insensitive and callous // cares for very few
⋟ very calm and calculative // always planning in his head
⋟ disciplined and practices good self-control
⋟ very flirtatious and persuasive // overly lustful
⋟ aloof and untrustworthy // jealous and deceitful
⋟ tactful and knows how to get what he wants
⋟ can be very nasty when he wants to be
⋟ but can also be very protective and faithful too
⋟ has a strong set of morals // has the quality of honor

relationships.
⋟ alfred stirling x leonora moray // both deceased
⋟ three older brothers // alfonso, thomas & franklin
⋟ the fifth stirling-moray brother, dominik, was killed
⋟ two younger half-siblings // henry & ida
⋟ bisexual but he stays silent about homosexual activity
⋟ husband to blake moray // cheating on her with multiple people
⋟ father of thomas moray and charlotte moray

interaction.
⋟ storage // playlist // pinterest
⋟ physically: very hard // mentally: hard
⋟ father taught him how to kill at a young age
⋟ insensitive towards injuring or killing others // will do so without hesitation
⋟ mentally, he is slowly becoming undone from stress, grief and guilt
⋟ often found guarding the lodge with a rifle
[/spoiler]

[body.]

[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"][align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]Grandpa's got a hell of a right hook.

This is not the first time he's been beaten down, and, looking up, he wonders if it'll be the last. For all he knows, Flintlock doesn't take kindly to trespassers in the night, especially not little boys who crack their jaws and wake the entire lodge. Elwin looks up at them with a vague sense of apology in his eyes, holding his jaw shut so the strain of keeping it up himself doesn't do any more damage.

"Thorry," he says through his teeth. "It hurth."

His body has gone numb with the cold. His eyes are trained on the glowing end of Edmund's cigarette. Beneath the layer of numbness, his skin starts to itch. He burned the whole house down, and it spread to the neighbors' houses, too. Was that not enough? His fingerprints were gone, his home was gone, his only support system was gone, but he still feels this strange, barbaric need to destroy something else.

Slowly, Elwin's eyes trail down Edmund's arm, to where his hand rests on his holster. What a joke, he thinks, rolling his eyes. Does he look like a threat? He's a teenage boy with acne, not a violent pillager. Then again, this is most likely the same treatment that every unwelcome midnight visitor receives.

Carefully, he gets to his feet, still clutching his chin with one hand, the other crossed over his body. He stands like he's trying not to take up so much space, not knowing what to do with his own gangly body—even moreso tense now that he's got two men staring him down, both armed (well, technically only one of them is.)

The one shoving his staff in his face looks about his age, which is somewhat exciting, given the fact that he's spent most of his life surrounded by old people. Though, upon further inspection, Brendan looks rather weathered, and probably is one of those people that grow up fast and lose all sense of fun by the age of 13.

"Grandpa hits hard," he says, rubbing the bruised, swollen area. "Popped my damn jaw out of place."

[DAMIEN.]

[align=center][div style="0px; width:450px; height:auto; text-align: justify; font-size: 9pt; line-height:13px;"]Someone's screaming. It's not like Damien's unfamiliar with screams (he's done plenty of screaming and caused plenty of screaming as well), but it's the tone of the scream that makes him believe that this may be someone Damien's unfamiliar with. And it's not his fault. Pulling his winter boots on, Damien quickly realized that he's definitely not the only one that heard that screaming. The welcoming committee is standing round a boy, a pretty one young at that. Tilting his head to the side, Damien peers through curls at the toothpick that's decided to disguise itself as a teenager.

"Too small, let's throw him back." Damien chirps, interested now in the swollen part of the boy's face. Oh yeah, those darn relatives and their inability to solve anything except through a nice punch. The systematic cycle of violence breeding violence, the anger that fueled everything wrong and rotten in the world... Damien wondered if he'd ever get strong enough to pop someone's jaw out of place.

Well, at least this guy knew how to pop 'em back, because Damien sure didn't. Until this conversation, Damien didn't even know jaws were something you could fuck up like that. "Ya got a name?" He wondered what they were gonna do with the jaw... did they just leave it? Let it swell up? Would it explode? Good thing this was where he landed, because they had lots of ice and no reasonable places to put it, except perhaps for the jaw of a very unfortunate boy.

[body.]

[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"][align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]Elwin's already-pink face turns a bright shade of red. He pulls the end of his jacket further around his skinny torso, annoyed whine dying in his throat. The first thing most people said to him tended to be either you're so tall! or are you really sixteen? followed by curious pokes at his stomach or ribs, hands held to the tops of their heads then held to where they'd come up to his shoulder or chest. Elwin would take it because most of the people in his life, up until a few hours ago, had been his Grandpa's age or older, and God forbid he disrespect them.

But Damien isn't old, and Grandpa's already pissed at him, so he shoots him an angry, indignant glare and says through his teeth, "Shut up."

He decides to focus on the glowing end of Edmund's cigarette again. It may make his hands twitch, but it's otherwise soothing to watch. Elwin tries to take some pleasure in the memory of his childhood home burning to the ground, but the feeling is overpowered by overwhelming guilt. Could it be called that? Does he really feel bad, or is he just upset that there were consequences for his actions?

"Elwin," he mumbles, back to nursing his jaw. "Can I sleep here?" If not, he'd run up the mountain for no good reason at all.

[EDMUND.]

    Ed's brows twitched closer together briefly, searching carefully at the apologetic gaze in the boy's eyes. He was... limber? No, Eddie couldn't find any way of sugarcoating the kid's apparent need for some meat on his bones. Unless he was supposed to this tall and painfully gangling. But, more than anything, it simply looked like somebody had just popped his jaw before they sealed the deal by stretching the poor kid's body out like taffy.

Eddie chose to not comment, instead choosing to lower the lantern into the snow, sat next to him, before he straightened up and took another slow puff of his cigarette. The teenager spoke some semblance of an apology, but again Ed was silent, perhaps somewhat unwelcoming, as eyes flitted across the boy's painful looking jaw.

❝ Grandpa hits hard. ❞ His Grandpa did this to him? A part of Ed seemed to visibly relax as the hand that once hovered over his holster now fell to his side. ❝ Looks like the snow didn't help too much with the swelling. ❞ Eddie finally chose to comment, tipping his head towards the young man before eyes shifted away briefly. His own Grandfather was also the type to land a good punch to release pent up frustration. Alfred was never the type to speak about Grandpa's hostile temper when he grew up as a boy, and Alfred never laid a hand on any of his boys so obviously he didn't inherit his own father's short temper. Perhaps Eddie could be thankful for that, even though it would be the only good he would ever see in his father.

Damien was there now, cracking a joke that Ed could only judge as mediocre at best. He pressed his lips together to form a tight line, gaze shifting to subconsciously check the darkness surrounding the four men. The newcomer was called Elwin, Eddie quietly noted to himself, taking another slow drag of his cigarette before looking back towards the teenager at his question. ❝ Right here? Well, if you want to- ❞ Eddie mumbled, voice plain despite his evident joke, ❝ but there are a couple of free beds in the lodge if you find the snow too uncomfortable. ❞

The corners of his lips twitched very slightly, very briefly, before he finally introduced, ❝ I'm Edmund... Uh, Eddie's fine. Brendan- ❞ He gestured towards Brendan, and then nodded towards Damien, ❝ and that's Damien. Lets get you into the warm. The cold's not where you wanna stay. ❞

[align=center][div style="width: 350px; text-align: justify; font-family:verdana; font-size: 7px;"][spoiler=tags :: updated 01/07]basics.
⋟ edmund theodore stirling-moray // ed, eddie, moray
⋟ goes by the name edmund moray
⋟ male // he/him
⋟ twenty four // ages real time // born seventh august
⋟ skipper of flintlock lodge // formerly a traveler with his family
⋟ mob boss of the stirling crime family
⋟ joined FL two years ago

appearance.
⋟ faceclaim - finn cole
⋟ voice claim - finn cole
⋟ 5'9ft // stocky, well-built frame
⋟ muted blue eyes and dirty blonde hair
⋟ physical health - 80% // current injuries: stitches on side of head where his head was slammed into ice and a chest infection following a near-drowning experience.
⋟ mental health - 70% // depression and deluded thoughts

personality.
⋟ quiet in nature but confident in himself
⋟ completely fearless, almost foolishly so
⋟ insensitive and callous // cares for very few
⋟ very calm and calculative // always planning in his head
⋟ disciplined and practices good self-control
⋟ very flirtatious and persuasive // overly lustful
⋟ aloof and untrustworthy // jealous and deceitful
⋟ tactful and knows how to get what he wants
⋟ can be very nasty when he wants to be
⋟ but can also be very protective and faithful too
⋟ has a strong set of morals // has the quality of honor

relationships.
⋟ alfred stirling x leonora moray // both deceased
⋟ three older brothers // alfonso, thomas & franklin
⋟ the fifth stirling-moray brother, dominik, was killed
⋟ two younger half-siblings // henry & ida
⋟ bisexual but he stays silent about homosexual activity
⋟ husband to blake moray // cheating on her with multiple people
⋟ father of thomas moray and charlotte moray

interaction.
⋟ storage // playlist // pinterest
⋟ physically: very hard // mentally: hard
⋟ father taught him how to kill at a young age
⋟ insensitive towards injuring or killing others // will do so without hesitation
⋟ mentally, he is slowly becoming undone from stress, grief and guilt
⋟ often found guarding the lodge with a rifle
[/spoiler]

[body.]

[align=center][div style="width: 450px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]Limber? Heavens, no, that's far too generous. Malnourished is more like it—emaciated would be a better word, if you're particularly dramatic. It's a good thing Edmund decides to hold his tongue, otherwise Elwin would have possibly lunged for him. His height is such a sensitive thing, being barely sixteen and well over six feet tall, not solely because he towers over most of his peers, but because he doesn't have much control over his own gangly body. Sure, he looks graceful and thin standing still, but watching him try to maneuver is a feat within itself.

Yes, Grandpa hits hard, but not often, and Elwin isn't so unaware of himself that he'd dare to say it was undeserved. He thinks, had he been in his grandfather's place, he would have done just the same, but he would have done it three more times just for good measure. Who can blame that guy if it turned out he needed his jaw wired shut? He can practically hear that man grumbling good riddance under his breath.

Funny how only the tale of his awful abuse is what makes Edmund relax. He insists, he's only as dangerous as the box of matches in his pocket, and it's clear to see through his thin cotton shirt and raggedy, holey pants that he's unarmed. He can understand being cautious, but the thought of drawing your gun on some skinny kid with a dislocated jaw is flat-out paranoid ... in his humble opinion, anyways.

Elwin opens his mouth to say something snarky, but shuts up quickly when pain shoots up the side of his face. Instead, he opts to clutch at his jaw and whimper, fight draining from his face. He feels so tired all of a sudden, eyelids drooping, and all he wants is to lay down in the cold snow and sleep. Maybe it's just the fact that he ran the whole way here, but the frost feels nice on his hot skin for once.

Edmund's introduction actually makes him laugh. Not because anything is funny, but because he is so, so incredibly bitter. It's a mirthless laugh, followed by a wry smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Hey, Grandpa," he grits out, unable to quell his mocking tone, "Did you follow me here?"

He doesn't explain. He just assumes they'll figure it out themselves. "A bed would be nice," Elwin says. "And a lighter, too, if that's not asking too much."