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𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲
madeline the martial mage | closed for remodeling
amelina the spider | unavailable | roleplay with vixen in the indoor bar | @isabella
cyra the history and conjuration professor | open
isadora the night riders boss | unavailable | roleplay with cole in the emporium| @elizabeth
lorencio the voxthain infiltrator | unavailable | roleplay with sahir in the cocktail lounge| @alpha
izeal the oldest thorne son | open
apollo the snake | open
ezekiel the delacroix uncle | open
oakley the science guy | open
anastasia the seavey wife | being imagined
??? the hayden medic | being imagined
TEMPLATE
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✧ relationship / name / age / status
✧ relationship / name / age / status
✧ relationship / name / age / status
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✧ magical abilities
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𝗛𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬
childhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intrigue childhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intrigue
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𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬
this and this and contradiction and depth and blah this and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blah this and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blah
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MADELINE HEADER
CHARACTER UNDER REMODELING
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✧ father / simon / 62 / alive
✧ mother / olivia / 56 / alive
✧ sister / gracie / 14 / alive
✧ brother / martin / 30 / alive
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✧ likes swimming, baking, petrology
✧ dislikes gore, fuzzy things
✧ adept at petrology, hand-to-hand combat, temperature manipulation
✧ magical abilities are breathing in and manipulating freshwater, temperature manipulation of all liquids
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𝗛𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬
Madeline grew up in a house of silence. Her parents' cold demeanor froze everything in time. The layout of the living room never changed; they never painted the house together. Nothing frivolous or distracting was necessary when they had everything they needed. Nothing frivolous, like noise or color or affection. Funny story- when she turned thirteen, she was deemed "too old for hugs longer than two seconds" and was encouraged to opt for a handshake instead.
Her parents loved her, of course- in their own way, deep deep down. They were just reserved. Gave no comfort when their children cried at night, no assistance when they failed a test, no celebration when they graduated. The siblings started to throw each other birthday parties, tutored each other, and gave the love they never got from their mother and father. They parented themselves. Madeline and her siblings stopped trying for approval and connection with their parents, and the chasm has only grown ever since.
Madeline was the most like her parents out of the three of them. Well, she would be, if not for the fighting ring. It started at seventeen. She never had time for a scheduled job with school, so she took small chores, like gardening or pet-sitting to save up a little. At one point, she agreed to clean out her teacher's pond- he was a sketchy man; showing up to class with random injuries, had a gorgeous house that didn't comply with the rest of his dangerous neighborhood's aesthetic. Too late to back out now.
She lifted the pond water with ease, the fish along with it, and suspended it in the air as she cleaned the sticks, leaves, and trash laying around the bed. After only about fifteen minutes, she was done, and on her way home with jewelry and old books in her bag, a giddy smile adorning her face. She didn't even notice the footsteps.
A viper trailed her until she almost reached the end of the area. A scrape of metal sent a chill up her spine, and without a single thought in her head, the water seeped into the pavement shot behind her and shoved the man into a wall within a second. Madeline fell down, panting and shaking, heart pounding so hard she didn't hear the second pair of footsteps approaching her. Luckily, this person walked right on by, but not before dropping a flyer.
𝙁𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙍𝙄𝙉𝙂: 𝘼𝙈𝘼𝙏𝙐𝙀𝙍 𝙉𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏, 𝘼𝙂𝙀𝙎 𝙀𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏𝙀𝙀𝙉 𝘼𝙉𝘿 𝙐𝙋
Her friends rejoiced when she took them up on their offer to get her a fake ID, but she of course kept it a secret from her family. This would be a Madeline thing, and a Madeline thing only (present day, she's ninety percent sure they all know anyways, but refuse to bring it up).
Her first fight she lost. Not terribly, but enough to get pitying looks as she left. She then lost the second, and the third, and her fourth. Her fifth she finally won by heating up the sweat on her opponent until they voluntarily backed out just to stop the pain. Madeline hated doing such a torturous thing, but she needed to win, and she had! And she kept winning- kept losing too, but less. Less and less, until she had made a name for herself by the age of twenty. At twenty-six, she was well known and well-loved. She was someone to root for.
It was a sensation she had been searching for since birth. Love. Adoration. Pride. Of course, as the cliche goes, it wasn't enough and would never be enough. And Madeline knew that. But she also knew this would be the closest she could get.
𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬
Each Apataou child reacted to their upbringing in their own way. Her older brother Martin became an opinioned professor with two dogs and an actress for a wife. Madeline's little sister Gracie dressed elaborately and decorated her room with every piece of art she could get her hands on. Madeline herself, on the other hand, went a far different route. She went to school for petrology, always had an air of calm, and only kept pet fish. Out of the three of them, she was the most like Simon and Olivia Apataou. Her smile is soft, her house clean, and she would never own a fluffy pet due to her aversion for all things fuzzy. Blankets, dogs, cats, etc. She always preferred things on the smoother side, like fish and snakes.
But she differs from her family in three keyways; the ring (described above), her baking, and her anxiety. Her baking may seem small in comparison to the other things listed, but it was anything but to her. While Madeline's isn't gourmet chef, the smell of cookies or lasagna fresh out of the oven fills her with glee. She'd made some of her best friends through the sharing of her food, found comradery with her co-workers because of it. Food, good or bad, is a healing and treasured part of Madeline's life.
As far as she can remember, Madeline has suffered panic attacks. Unexpected things throw her for a loop and cause her to spiral out of control. She never got help from her parents, of course, and like most things, she had to tough it out on her own. Rocks, it turns out, are her savior. Smooth, rough, sharp, bumpy- learning, feeling, studying rocks, everything about them, she adored it all. Rocks became the most consistent thing in her life.
She's sweet, careful, tough, scared, everything she was and is all wrapped up into a twenty-six-year-old woman who quite literally fought tooth and nail to get to where she is.
Madeline Apataou- what a sight.
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✧ hates gore but loves horror movies
✧ lyrics from angel by halle bailey
✧ madeline now works as a freshwater petrologist, monitoring the rock and soil composition of freshwater bodies to ensure their health.
✧ from asterath
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓
Amelina grew up in an orphanage. A dusty old thing, packed with other girls and boys that were snatched up left and right by smiling families that were foreign to Lina. She was left there at three and slept on thin mattresses and surrounded by strangers, none of whom wanted much to do with her. And when they did, it felt like the next day they were being adopted or relocated. Eventually, she gave up. Surprisingly, Lina has two living parents. Their names are Martha and Henry, a middle-class couple who enjoyed the finer things in life that they couldn't have with the economic burden of a child. Why trade for baby bottles when they could get a beautiful house and tickets to concerts? Naturally, they plopped their daughter in an orphanage and effectively forgot about her until she turned five.
On her birthday, they came knocking on her door for a quick hello to her. A very quick hello. The couple didn't even stay long enough to watch the hope fade from Amelina's eyes when she realized they weren't going to keep her. After their fifth visit when she was eight, the girl lost all hope of them becoming a family again. And she got a taste for the expensive just like them. Maybe to feel more connected to them, maybe as a way to let out her anger. For whatever reason, Lina started her life as a future rich petty thief. She pocketed jewelry, silverware, shoplifted, stole from bedsides. And, if she did say so herself, Amelina became quite adept at it, so much so that she could snatch your socks with your shoes still on.
On her seventeenth birthday, her parents didn't show up for the first time since she was five, and she was utterly ashamed by the way the tears welled up in her eyes. Lina snuck out the back door that night, careful to step around the creaky spots on the floor and slipped the night guard a watch to turn a blind eye. Between her occasional jobs and petty thieving, she had more than enough to keep her secure for a long time. But she didn't want that- she wanted to buy or rob or whatever something big and flashy and wave it around and into her parent's faces to watch their faces when they recognized the asset they lost. She would have made them fucking rich if they had let her. Instead, they left her in a stuffy building where she never got a second chance at a family.
Lina shouldered her bag and took a breath, making note of the bejeweled knife's place, and tightened the laces of her boots in case she needed to run. Lina had never thought things through before, and things had worked out, so as she walked further and further from the orphanage that had kept her safe and captive for fourteen years, there was no frantic planning or anxiety.
Everything would come into place for her in the end, and that knowledge was a cool sensation surrounding her that kept her from flying off the handle. But even that wouldn’t keep her stable forever, which is how she became a spider in the end- a state of manic that ended in a happy coincidence. It was the first and only time her bouts of disconnect ever helped her.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄
Two weeks have passed, and Amelina was staying at a nice hotel for almost nothing. All she had to do was smile and her magic sedated whoever confronted her about more trading, and then they were all smiles and suggesting refund for her troubles. With her manipulation, she was even more well off than before. She shifted her face to look like a cleaning lady to sneak into rooms and steal, to be a manager to get to the safe, a waitress to get to the food. The twinge of guilt she felt for the actual employees being fired faded over time, leaving her to her own devices without a consciousness bugging her.
It was a charmed life, and she started to understand her parent's decision to give her up- Lina wouldn't leave this luxurious lifestyle for anything. It was intoxicating. The jewels and other goods she stored fitting into the large suite perfectly and solidified her belief that she was made for a life of riches. The expensive perfume overtook her senses, her gaze drawn to anything and everything that sparkled in the sun, and her fingers tingled with satisfaction underneath the silk sheets of her bed. Everything was perfect.
Perfect. That's what Amelina was thinking when she was on a walk to a nearby market, donning dramatic black sunglasses matched with a blue skirt and lace top, all of which she stole. Earrings dangled from her ears and her nails were painted to perfection, but she wanted more. The crazed look in her eyes had grown, along with her ability to mask it. Her morality was crumbling, and she was moving further and further away from reality, so much so that she made the dumbest decision of her life- she tried to pickpocket an Arachniad. She didn't see it as dangerous, only a challenge. The idea of stealing from trained thieves made her blood sing with satisfaction, and her hand was moving before she could comprehend the situation.
Right as her hands touched the object in the man- womans? She didn't pay attention enough to know- pocket, a sharp blade sliced down so fast that for a moment she thought her hand was gone. By some stroke of luck, there was only a slice on the top of her middle finger. A chunk of skin was gone, but that would heal in time. Lina watched in horror as the blood dripped onto her outfit, one that she had handcrafted for the day. Her head snapped up to snap at her attacker, a sense of self-righteousness filling her even though she was trying to rob this person- but only an angry squeak left her lips before a blunt force bonked her on the head, and she passed out, ruining her fluffy coat.
After she was knocked out, she woke up in a nice bed, surrounded by strange faces. She was in her clothes, but her pockets and bag were empty. Lina scrambled up, clutching the sheets, body heating as fear overtook her. But then the crowd moved to reveal two things- her possessions, and a proposition. Seven years later, she's a prized pickpocket, snatching watches of wrists and bows out of hair. She was trained by the Arachniads and found the family she'd wanted. It was a weird, ragged family, but she loved it non the less. She was valuable, needed, and did what she liked. Her manic moments were less and less frequent, and she'd delivered hundreds of thousands of our dollars' worth of heists to her fellow spiders. She was Lina, the Huntsman Spider, and she was home.
𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄
From the time Lina was a child, she's been strange. At six, she was indifferent when she saw a dead bird outside, while all other children were mourning the poor thing. She was respectful, but didn't understand the tears for a creature that was gross and disheveled, especially since she'd never met it. She felt nothing when she stole because it resulted in her getting something she wanted, which was good. She didn't flinch when she stabbed a girl's leg in a fight with a jagged fork. Then, at twelve, she was diagnosed as a high functioning sociopath. She would experience a disconnect from herself and reality, entering manic states when triggered. She's rarely affected by grotesque occurrences. She lacks empathy.
But she does feel: anger at her parents, love for a stray cat, bashful around an attractive person, guilt for getting people fired. Often, her emotions are strong and overpowering, just like everyone else. But she often doesn't understand why things like stealing or stabbing are immoral on her own. She doesn't personally get emotions and beliefs that others have and can react brashly and insensitively.
Still, Lina's willing to listen, and can respond in a kind and supportive way, even if it doesn't reflect how she feels internally. She's eccentric, with random bouts of energy and impulse that contradicts her usual calm demeanor. She can regret, and she can cry, and she can laugh, and she can be so utterly human that she has hope that maybe her mental state has changed. It never has, and neer would, but over time, she'd learn to accept that part of herself. Amelina is funny, and kind, and interesting, even if she can be hard to deal with sometimes. She's worked her entire life trying to find love that she lacked as a child, and she wouldn't do that if she felt nothing.
I wouldn't do that if I feel nothing. Sometimes she has to remind herself.
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𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒔
✶ expensive things
✶ intricate crafts
✶ cats
✶ forensics
𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒔
✶ rats and rodents
✶ tacky rings
✶ closed spaces
𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓
✶arachniad
✶asterath citizen
✶manipulation of her facial features
✶temporary influence of other's emotions and actions, not total control
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✧ mother / ophelia / 54 / alive
✧ father / markus / 53 / sick
✧ sister / kalia / 36 / alive
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✧ likes she'll try anything once
✧ dislikes humidity
✧ adept at yodeling, strangely
✧ magical abilities conjuration, flame, and weeds-esk plants
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𝗛𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬
Cyra grew up in a one-story house on the outskirts of the central city. They were poor, but upsetting Ophelia by even mentioning their living situation was forbidden, per the silent rule her and her sister followed.
Evidently, there were quite a few things that they wouldn't talk about to keep the peace. They never said the names of gangs. Never mentioned their father's sickness outright. Cyra's Tourette's was a problem that would only add to stress, so there was never a diagnosis gotten or advice given on how to live with it. As a result of the 'don't mention Tourette's' rule, the bullying Cyra received from it was also never addressed.
This constant dance around everything led to Cyra's sister, Kalia, being her only true confidant. In fact, Kalia became more like a parent than their mother and father ever did. Kalia took her to school, taught her to cook, helped her manage her Tourette's and ADD. She stood by her all the time, never failing to be the parent that Cyra never really had. Kalia taught her to fight, to make friends, to lie, to apologize, to do anything and everything she would ever need to know. Everything that should have been taught by parents.
Markus was sick, and had to be cared for, so they never really blamed him for the neglect. He couldn't control his sickness, and so the resentment they harbor against him as they get older is fully unfair, and they recognize that. At least, Cyra does. However, her mother Ophelia then take all of the blame. The silence she kept as a child, never asking for anything, never truly talking, never getting the love and treatment she deserved- it bubbled up into an explosion of anger, the screams echoing the child whose mommy was always too tired to give her a hug.
To some extent, Cyra feels guilty for this rage. It's true, Ophelia worked tirelessly for the family. She was never home because she was the only provider for the four of them. But this truth has never changed the truth that Cyra lived- a lonely, parentless childhood.
Eventually, Cyra fell behind so much that school wasn't worth it to her at one point, and she dropped out. Her mother didn't notice for weeks. After the responsibility of being a student was thrown away, Cyra then started looking for a job. As you might expect, it didn't pan out well.
All of the entry level positions she could go for all required interacting with other people, and no one wanted a person who yells "bobble" at random to be the first person a customer meets. When she did geta job, it was for basically no food, no clothing, no nothing. She barely was given scraps to bring home. It was a dirty little shop, where she was shoved to the back to constantly restock whatever it was, they made- Cyra was never told. Only one other person worked there, and it was a grumpy old woman who yelled at her to quit messing around whenever she ticked.
Cyra quit. No one noticed.
Then, for some odd reason, Cyra went to school again. It was a mini community college, that people from the ages of fifteen and up attended. Most people saw it as some kind of joke school, and granted, Cyra did too. That is, until she absolutely thrived in that decrepit hellhole. People were usually too tired to even glance her way when she ticked, and eventually it just became normal- she became normal. The professors were flexible and encouraging, and they all seemed to like her. Cyra took up conjuration instead of evocation and transferred to an actual college after two years.
Cyra had never ever ever liked school before in any kind of way. Transferring to real college instead of some hole in the ground was absolutely terrifying. She fully expected to fail, not to mention the added stress of her father's decline in health at the same time. And yes, it was much harder than the School of Hol, which had a longer name originally, but the founders forgot to write the full name down. But she worked hard, harder than she ever had before. Cyra graduated with her family in the audience (Kalia secretly argued with their mother to get her to come) and finally felt some sense of accomplishment in her life.
Skip a few years, and things are so much different than after her graduation. Cyra started teaching at Cogsworks when she was twenty-six, which was the same age that her sister disappeared to "find herself" and Markus Lue was put in Cyra's care at her mother's word, without much discussion of the matter to Cyra.
At thirty-two, Cyra is still teaching, still caring for her father, and still receiving minimal help from her mom. Kalia hasn't been back for six years.
Not much has changed, she supposed. Cyra has always been used to loneliness.
𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬
Cyra Lue's entire life has been a statistic. She has lived a life where she feels so real and unique, but is surrounded with a swarm of other people, and always has a box to be put in, reduced to numbers and names. Lower middle class. Didn't finish school. Father's sickness. Bad grades. Tourette's. Younger sister. Teacher.
And, she's never referred to as just Cyra. While all these labels and categories are true, they're never truly about her. She's in the general lower middle class. She's in the percentage of people who didn't finish school. Her father has a sickness with this percent chance of survival. She's someone else's teacher, someone else's sister, someone else's friend. Cyra exists adjacent to other people. If she had no one, she often wonders if she'd be noticed at all.
She's not a nice person. She's honest, and defensive, and strict in her class. But she is a very very kind person. She remembers faces, and situations, names, interests, and genuinely cares about anything she is told. She's awful with schedules, but she'll right down your birthday so she doesn't forget.
She's a loved teacher among students who care enough to actually have a conversation with her and is feared by those who only see her at face value. They, among so many others in her life, fail to see her as a full person, choosing to take everything she does without a single damn grain of salt. But Cyra has had to learn a lesson than many will never learn- how to be proud of yourself, and validate yourself, without any praise from others. Having never been given a compliment more than a dozen times as a kid, she had to be able to know she did a good job without a pat on the back.
Not many people, if anyone, loves Cyra. But she really loves herself, and that's more than most people will have in a lifetime.
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✧ open to a romance arc
✧ I ran out of space so the personality is short :'(
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✧ relationship / unknown / unknown / mother
✧ relationship / unknown / unknown / father
✧ relationship / unknown / 14-17 / brother
-she is currently looking for him
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✧ likes anything she wants
✧ dislikes anything she wants
✧ adept at anything. she. wants.
✧ magical abilities are enchantment, specifically charm, suggestion, and thinks alike
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𝗛𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬
Isadora Vance was born on the streets. She doesn't know how she got there, much less how she survived, but she did survive, and that's all that matters. She bounced around from petty street gangs to well-meaning couples, to jail systems, but none of them could keep her. They were all too constraining, ever regulation and obligation making her feel suffocated, so one way or another, she would leave. Her constant escape led her to master the art of enchantment. She could wink and dance at someone and have them under her thumb for just long enough for her to prance away.
At the age of twelve, Isa was well known among the streets of Asterath where she roamed. She was liked enough and not threatening enough for people to bother her, and so when she caused any kind of trouble, people tend to turn a blind eye. This led her to the thrilling discovery of free will. She could do whatever she wanted, and no one could stop her. She could scale buildings and crash into a window for the giggles, and so she did. She could snatch fancy dresses and tear them up to put on her cat Hamsy, and so she did. She could adopt a random tabby cat that probably had diseases and name it Hamsy, and so she fucking did.
Eventually, the people around her started to become less welcoming as Isadora got older. Even if she lived off the streets, she was expected to at the very least, not be a menace to everyone all the time. People started to tell her to calm down, and to get a job, and even told her no. The word was a slap in the face.
Isadora wasn't going to let yet another community try to destroy her spirit, and so she packed up and left without saying a word. She didn't wander far from her original street corners in Asterath, but far enough away where not many people knew of her. She set up shop in a different corner, and the locals rolled there eyes when they found a fifteen-year-old girl slumming around their spots. But luckily, no one there was willing to push out a little girl, so she was allowed to stay. Hamsy included, of course.
One day, when she was wandering these same streets, about a month after she had arrived, when a boy around her age ran on by, snatching a ring she had stolen off a random man, which was also probably stolen from someone else. She shouted, rage filling up her body, and she chased him down. Now, this didn't teach her any lesson on how to treat others- that's naive to think. All it did was teach her to always be able to run faster than the other person, because this boy was slow as hell.
When Isa caught up to him, she pounced and shoved him to the ground, slinging him across the face, and spitting on the ground next to him. She huffed and shoved him again before getting up and assisting the boy off the ground. You have to be faster than that, she had advised, crossing her arms. I'll let you go once you get me some food. My usual pitying old people haven't been around recently- I think they died or something.
And so, he did take her somewhere. To the Night Riders.
There, she was considered the founder reincarnate, reviving the spirit of the gang that had been slowly diminishing due to the previous leader aging. People joined the night riders out of a joy for childish recklessness and having joy in doing whatever you want. When a young Isadora joined, brought by the slow boy named Nico, she was accepted with open arms.
Two years later, when the old boss had the nerve to give the members a curfew and was found dead a few hours later. Isadora was less put in power so much as everyone, including her, wordlessly assumed she was now in the leadership position. And I suppose, the rest is history.
𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬
A word to describe Isadora Vance. Usually, encompassing a character in one word would be borderline impossible for me. I tend to make my character complex, nuanced, annoying and nonsensically contradictory. I typically lean towards characters that are paradoxical, have some sort of inner battle, or moral crisis.
Isadora is unique to most of all of my previous characters in that she is nothing like that. Isadora goes through life without a single regret. She zips through the street, other young adults and children behind her, not sparing a glance at whoever she leaves sprawling behind her. She steels with a grin and picks a fight while laughing. Isadora never does anything she doesn't want to. Her carefree, lawless joy is what sprung her up to her position.
Despite her utter lack of organization or credibility to be the boss of the Nigh Riders gang, she represented everything the chaotic group of people stood for. Fun, brightness, chaos, self-importance, and honestly just doing whatever the fuck you want.
She's an annoying asshole, but her whit and entrancing nature draws people in, more attracted to the fulfilling way she lives her life more than they are drawn to her disregard of the people around her. Other than the people in the Night Riders, who she swears to protect and care for, Isadora's destruction knows no bounds in terms of who it harms and how it harms.
She steels wedding rings, kicks down doors, has probably killed a person once or twice, though she wouldn't know. Isadora doesn't see or care to see how her actions affect other people, and why should she? It would never harm her, and even if it did, she had a good run. Life is too short to care about how you affect others, and rules, moral obligations, whatever the fuck you call them- they're all just collars, chokers, restraints that only exist to inconvenience her.
Very rarely, she is caught. People tend to not care about the Night Riders, since they aren't inherently harmful, but Isadora has quite a few crimes under her belt, weather she knows it or not. When she does find herself under the gaze of the law, she always finds a way out. Either by her pure charm, tricks, magically assistance, or brute force, Isadora Vance has never been nailed down.
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✧ she's terrified of spiders
✧ awesome at skateboarding, but can't stand on one leg
✧ adhd for sure
✧ looking for her brother arc!
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✧ nana / francis cashbee / 64 / died ten years ago
✧ father / veaxin cashbee / 29 / died seventeen years ago
✧ mother / posie cashbee / 45 / alive
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✧ likes music, attention
✧ adept at all forms of music
✧ magical abilities are illusion magic, which assist him in making performances flashy
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𝗛𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬
Lorencio grew up in a nice house, off a lake in rural Runalithe. There, his entire life was infused with music. The most wonderful sounds echoed through the halls, and he knew from a young age he would follow in his family's footsteps and become a musician.
The darkness hit when little Lorencio was only seven years old. He was most fortunate, as he lived far away from where the poison was spreading the most, and for the first few years, his family paid no attention to the horrors rampaging outside their quaint farmhouse. It seemed so far away, so avoidable, that not a single siren flared in the heads of the Cashbee family for a significant amount of time.
This moment of happiness, that lasted far longer than that of the general population, ended when Lorie's father left on a tour. He and his old bandmates thought it would be exciting to hit the road once more, maybe even bring the community together with their sound. Equally as uneducated on the shadow fog, the rest of the family agreed and praised Veaxin Cashbee for his courageous attempt to make the best of a bad situation. The last time Lorie saw his father, he was wearing a top hat, a suit, and a case that contained his guitar. Veaxin strolled into the white mist of the morning, and would be killed just five days later, before he and his band reached their second tour destination.
The catastrophe turned his life up, down, left, right, north, south, east, west, and every single combination of every direction that existed. Newly ten years old, the reality of the world was forced right into his line of vision as a result of his father's death. Unable to comprehend this new threat properly due to his youth and parent's ignorance. The situation was far more stressful than was necessary, and in all honesty, completely avoidable in this stage of the poison, and their proximity to it. As Lorie grew older, he became internally resentful of his family for the havoc they caused on themselves, for if they had cared just a little more, if they had looked into this terrible deadly force with an ounce of caution, father would be alive. Instead, he ran straight into death's arms with a smile on his face and a song in his heart.
After the passing of Mr. Cashbee, Lorie's family did a full 180 in their approach to dealing with this threat. Lorie was cut off from his few friends that he had and confined to the house. Lorencio was already home schooled, with little interaction with other children, but at least he had friends he made when he went to the market, on the playgrounds, at church. And when he would return to his home, it was a lively, vibrant place. After he lost his father, he would never see these friends for years to come, and many he would never see again. His home was a frighting, anxious environment, and music was rarely played, as if they would attract the fog if they made a peep.
Lorencio would only be able to play when his nana and Mrs. Cashbee would leave to get groceries, or other necessary ventures outside their property. The second they were out of earshot, he would run into the closet, and dust off the old piano. He would sing his heart out in a perfectly clear voice, as if he had never stopped. These secret performances lasted until Lorencio was seventeen. Seven years of hiding of waiting, of fearing this soul-sucking mist*. And after seven years, another catastrophe struck: Nana Francis Chashbee dies at the age of sixty-four*, and this is where Lorencio approaches the biggest crossroads of his life. Well, it approaches him. At Nana's funeral, Lorencio is permitted by his mother to perform as a tribute. Afterwards, with no explanation, he finds a business card in his pocket. It reads:
𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗢𝗥
𝗗𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗖𝗟𝗨𝗕
𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗦; 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗪 𝗨𝗣 𝗔𝗡𝗬𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗘 𝗧𝗢 𝗕𝗘 𝗔𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗗
And that night, shoving down his greif Lorie sneaks out to The Reactor, and plays shows there every night from then on. He is never discovered by his mother but is indeed discovered by the rest of the town. He is revered for his talent, blending in with the rest of the world with ease, despite his near decade long quarantine. The spark in his life that died with his father was reignited through the flashing lights of the club, and the praise of the crowd. He was finally where he belonged.
Ten more years pass, and the fog is never going away. People are desperate, sad, lonely, and Runalithe is the only country left on the entire continent. Even then, the people know their survival is not going to last much longer. The only positive is that Lorie has managed to get his mother out and about once more, and has finally adjusted to allowing both herself, and her son outside. She even occasionally attends his shows, but this is a rare occasion. Bu even in this desolate time, Lorencio works crowds like it's nothing. He's endlessly charismatic, talented, and a master of networking, to the point that he draws the attention of the Runalithe squad. A second crossroads.
Instead of begging for her son to stay, Posie Cashbee is unexpectedly supportive, and tearfully encourages him to join the crew. Hesitantly, he does and becomes the infiltrator for the uptown city of Voxthain. He quickly scores a performance gig at the Sol Aureus club and fits in perfectly in their rich, self-important lives, for that was once how he lived. He gains trust through beautiful songs and crooning compliments, dragging guards down as easily as he did at home. He is the performer, the liar, and it is what he was made to be.
*at this point, the fog had been spreading for ten years
**excuse my math for the ages and years, it might be off. I am not a math person.
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𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬
Lorencio is a charming fellow. With a round face and infectious smile, he seems completely harmless and immediately lowers defenses. Not only that, but with his strange knack for music, magic isn't needed for him to manipulate emotions at will. Whether it's melancholy ballads that remind people of a live lost, or a hopeful cry that forms a sense of comradery, Lorie is just the man for the job to become close with strangers. His music is emotional, but pretentious and classy, allowing him to roam the halls of nobles and fancy lounges without anyone blinking an eye.
He's not manipulative all the time, often the most vulnerable and honest in the room when with the squad. The information hidden from him as a child resulted in catastrophe, and he refuses to allow something like that happen again. To those he is ever honest with, he is always honest with. Not blunt, per se, but information is never hidden, and reality is never warped. His reports to Alianna never hide anything and are often uncomfortably upfront.
Lorencio's insightful, and even when extracting information, he does his best to be of genuine help to people, as long as it doesn't interfere with his and Runalithe's interest. He's socially awkward when the mask is down, his charm only part of the character he plays. When Lorie makes real and deep connections with people, his charisma falters, and the fact that he had no true interaction with people for seventeen years is quite obvious. Even after he started singing for people, he never made friends or talked much outside of getting compliments and job offers.
Sometimes, Lorie wonders if he'll ever make a real connection with someone ever again. His job is to lie, to play this character he created a seventeen, and it's very likely he will stay in this strange city forever. If that comes to fruition, and he is sentenced to act his way throughout time, then he fears he will forget who is actually is underneath the flashing lights of his magic and will lose the little boy who played songs with his family at the dinner table.
To some extent, Lorie doesn't know who he is anymore. Every day he stays in Voxthain, he rots away, loosing another part of him to the stage, to the act, to the squad. Maybe giving in and becoming the suave musician forever is the answer; maybe no one needs Lorie Chashbee. Maybe a figurehead is all the world meant for him to be.
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IZEAL HEADER
✧ mother / name tbd / age tbd / alive
✧ father / terrance thorne / dead
✧ sister / avaliyah thorne / 23 / alive
✧ cousin / kieran thorne / 32 / alive
✧ enemy / caledonia hayden / 23 / alive
*no active fighting or beef, fully a (for now) one sided hatred after cal broke up with vali
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✧ dislikes most other noble families, and cal. just always really petty about disliking cal.
✧ adept at astronomy (NOT astrology. he gets very upset when people mix it up), math of all sorts
✧ magical abilities are abjuration, some transmutation like mending and fabrication
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𝗛𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬
A boy born to a commoner and a noble was so scandalous in Izeal's eyes that whenever he and his family was mocked for it, he couldn't help but laugh. He could not find it in himself to fathom how him existing was such a vile thing, especially when it was clear his parents loved each other dearly. He knew for a fact half of these people hated their families, and their families hated each other, so in what world could they judge a little boy for being alive, when they were grown adults who hated their own lives?
One of Izeal's earliest memories was explaining this thought to his father in the matter-a-fact tone of a child. Terrance had laughed, his sincerity when asking a rather hilariously rude question making everything that much funnier. Izeal didn't quite understand why this was funny, however, but he was happy to have made his father laugh, and so whenever he had a blunt observation such as this, he would always be sure to vocalize it. Occasionally, he would get a laugh. Other times, he would get punched in the face. Then the perpetrator was forced to apologize, often publicly, which made his petty heart soar, and encourage Izeal to be even harsher with his statements. After his father died, when Izeal was nine almost ten, these spats on the playground became all too common, and he only stopped antagonizing others when it started to negatively affect his sister, and family's reputation.
Once he started to work through the pain of losing his father, and stopped pissing people off all the time, Izeal was rather well liked. He studied abjuration in school, also learning mending and other transmutation abilities from his family, though he never took to the magic as much as he did abjuration. His defenses were strong, he could sniff out and identify magic with ease, and his natural gift in the subject allowed him space to good off in school and grow his popularity with the masses. Unlike his somewhat shy sister, Izeal was loud in the classroom, cracking jokes, and gaining the good will of teachers with his levity. He also often used his influence to protect his sister, either threatening or entertaining people into being nice when they encountered her.
Izeal had always been close with his sister. Despite how much he insisted he wanted a little brother as a child, he would always beg to hold his baby sister, and played with her constantly, even when he secretly didn't want to. Izeal refused to hurt her feelings by declining, so he would suck it up and pick up a plastic doll to entertain her with. As they got older, a more lovingly antagonistic dynamic began, as is the story with all siblings. He would make fun of her all the time about anything he could think of, so much so it was border-line bullying, but when he learned how Cal had hurt her, he reverted back into protective older sibling mode and has held that grudge for almost seven years, but that's hardly impressive. Izeal still hates a noble that died a few years back for calling his mother a whore twenty years ago.
Izeal doesn't date much, or really at all. He's a social butterfly but has never allowed himself to really push into the dating scene- as a noble, he saw it as a waste anyways, and didn't find much of a reason to try and find a partner anyhow- Vali was the romantic type, and the family name would live on with her. Sure, he'd had flings, and even boyfriends before, but nothing had felt quite right. He saw relationships crash and burn around him anyhow, and he didn't need that mess in his life*.
Even though he'd never been an academic type, Izeal passed school with flying colors. He never cared much about academics aside from math and abjuration, and he certainly never needed to either. Nepotism is alive and real, and Izeal already had a job lined up and ready for when he graduated. He became the manager of all the financials of the hospitals, loving the logical and satisfying complaining of all the numbers, and even getting excited when he saw too much or too little money in the system, because then he could go into another logical and satisfying process to fix it.
And that brings us to present day. Izeal running the money for his family, still admired, still powerful. Only thing is, he recently got diagnosed with a deadly illness and will most likely die within a couple years. He found out three weeks ago and has no plans to tell his family any time soon. He has no idea how the hell to do it in the first place, and he still has time. Hence why he took a mysterious loan from the Mirage den and has refused to explain it to his cousin Kieran, even though the two generally get along. In any case, Izeal can fix it and repay Kieran in due time. He can protect his family from suffering such an acute grief again, he can do something. There's always something.
*he totally needs that mess in his life lol. open to a relationship arc for him!
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𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬
Izeal (izz-ayy-ul) was born and raised as a protecter. He always yelled at old men and women who judged his family, even before he could understand why they were judging them. He protected little bugs he found on the sidewalk (sadly leading to many bug deaths as he actually removed them from their habitat), and grew quite fond of animals in the process, specifically small and helpless ones. Izeal has always been one to root for the underdog.
He protected himself from the pain of losing his father by throwing himself into different subjects, far away from those related to Terrance. Hence why he didn't focus on healing later on in life and never contributed much to the direct healing of patients. He always focused on the financial and organizational aspect, only going into hospitals for brief visits with patients to lift spirits. But he just could never bring himself to follow in his parent's footsteps and truly heal.
His sister got most of the healing genes, but Izeal was an abjuration prodigy. His defenses, once perfected, were near impossible to break, a fact he never stops bragging about around those who he strongly dislikes. Izeal is also very, very, petty. If he dislikes someone, for any reason at all, he will hold a grudge against them forever until the problem is resolved, and he (or whoever they harmed) received an appropriate apology. He makes people jump through hoops over and over again if he feels they deserve it, and sometimes, if the crime was truly egregious, he'll just laugh in their face afterwards.
He's not a very open person. Izeal never fakes liking someone, and really loves all his friends, but the thought of burdening others with his problems makes him want to die. He's always been able to handle himself, and he'll never run into a situation where he can't. Izeal likes listening to other people and working out their problems and has no desire to share his own with people who clearly have enough going on in their lives. He's happy, they're happy, so what's even the point?
And of course, all this to say, he's not an unkind person. If he likes you, and he honestly likes most people, he's a steadfast and good friend. He'll defend your honor like it's his own, lie for you if asked, and he's just a nice guy to be around. He's upbeat, outgoing, and makes people feel like they're a part of a group, even if they barely know the other names. Hell, even if you don't know his, he'll be sure to remember yours.
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APOLLO HEADER
✧ mom / Grace Griffith / 32 at death / dead
✧ father / Andrew Pennington / 41 at death / dead
✧ mother / Iris Pennington /??? / Unknown
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magical abilities
✧conjuration: unseen servant, summon shadows, etc.
✧ illusion: major image, invisibility, etc.
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𝗛𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬
*warning: gun violence, death of a parent through a child's eyes
Apollo Griffith grew up in a sweet suburban house off the side of Voxthain. As a young boy, he was adopted by a single lady named Grace Griffith who could not have children herself. She took one look as his adorable baby face and scooped him right up, planning to raise him as best as she could, and as lovingly as she could. His mother was the epitome of warmth and kindness. She was a humble and generous lady, well-loved by the community at large- soft, sweet, and so utterly good that it seems near impossible a man like Apollo Griffith resulted from her care.
Apollo is a psychopath- medially diagnosed, mind you. He did love his mother, and very deeply. It's impossible for anyone not to adore the sweet woman, and contrary to popular belief, Apollo is fully capable of feeling such things. While she was alive, she tempered his more negative impulses and did her best to raise him as a good person. And for a while, he tried and succeeded. Even if he didn't understand it, he apologized for mistakes, comforted others, and made connections he cared about. He was blessed with a support system that many children could only dream of.
Then, when he was about thirteen, the Serpentine arrived at their door. Grace Griffith was shot in front of his eyes, an image forever burned into his mind. She was making eggs for breakfast, with a cute little cotton apron on that said, "I'm a mom, what's your superpower?" Her slightly greyed hair was up in a ponytail that was tied so loosely it drooped more and more with every step towards the entryway. She twisted the doorknob and died with cheery "hello" on her lips.
The man who killed her was Apollo's birth father, Andrew Pennington. His wife, Apollo's birth mother, Iris, had given their child up for adoption in secret and lied on every form about who she was and who Apollo was, and then disappeared off the face of the earth, saving both of them from the gangs. For thirteen years, Andrew has been searching for his son and his wife. Iris to this day has never been found, but meanwhile, Apollo was forcefully taken under the 'care' of the snakes. It went as you might imagine.
It was clear that Andrew never cared about having a son, only searching for him in order to save face amongst the others. It would be utterly pathetic if he allowed his own wife to leave with his child right from under his nose, and he refused to be embarrassed by his own family. Once he found Apollo, he lost interest immediately, never even having a full conversation with the boy.
Life with his father was violent yes, but worse, it was incredibly lonely. He had no peers, no games, no real access to the world outside of the snakes. He made no connections, had no support, and only felt the dull feelings of grief pound in his head for the three years he stayed underneath Andrew's thumb. The fifth year, Apollo killed that vile man. When he did, he only felt the smallest twinge of relief before he was overwhelmed with an agonizing exhaustion. He slept for almost two days after, and when woke, he searched for his mother.
Not Iris Pennington, who he couldn't care less about. She was nothing to him, a blip in the back of his mind. She didn't want to be found, anyways. No, Apollo would be on the hunt for his actual mother, Grace Griffith. She was dead, yes, but there has to be a way to commune with her. In this endless world of magic, just a simple conversation with the deceased wasn't impossible. Apollo researched, traveled, threatened, studied, did everything he could to learn about the world of necromancy. And that is how he discovered the Legend of the Shadowsmith Stone.
And so, he set out, finding everything he could in relation to this mysterious stone. He searched all over both cities, almost falling into madness in his search for the stone. He dug holes, disturbed graves, robbed, killed, all for the small chance he might come across this magical artifact that would heal his life once more and bring his mother back. For years, he searched, and when he was twenty-three, by some miracle, he found it. By a little grave, hidden in some small patch of land around Voxthain, Apollo uncovered the Shadowsmith Stone. And the Stone was just a dumb fucking rock.
The weeks after this are a blur, meshed together under a feeling of incredible rage and violence, thoughts of wasted time and blood spilled and sleepless nights and broken hearts and graves and death and guns and blood and a dead woman on the ground, and an adult man crying over a gravestone until he passed out from exhaustion, and silence.
His mind quieted. His heartbeat slowed, and for this first time in years, he felt at peace. This grief made him wild, but it would make others wild too. Within minutes of him blinking away the blurry insanity of the weeks prior, Apollo had devised a plan to use this tragedy in his favor. He still had magic, still had power. With enough finesse, this stupid gem could become what he had wanted it to be all along- at least, to other people it could. Grief makes you illogical, desperate, weak. Apollo knew this better than anyone. And so, he set up a tent on the edge of a patch of land in Asterath and waited. That was all he had to do, and soon enough, hopeful, naïve faces spouting worthless drivel about my brother, my child, my friend, my lover all waiting to speak to their loved ones that have passed. And honestly, what was the difference if it was all fake- it made the poor saps happy, and it filled the con man's pockets.
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𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬
Apollo is not much outside of his shadowy persona, for that is who he lives as. He might have been a sweet boy at some odd time in his life, but there is not a sane being who could look into his eyes and believe there is some of that goodness to be found. He is not a violent person, never looks for fights or seeks out the smell of blood. But he wants what he wants and will never be stopped from getting that. He has killed without remorse but curls his nose at unnecessary bloodshed. He is not a threat, unless you get in his way, and it just so happens that far too many people feel the need to get in his way. This is Apollo Griffith.
The god of light. Apollo has never once lived up to his namesake that his loving mother gave to him as a child. He's dark, unflinching, shadows following him wherever he steps. He reeks of death and darkness, spending time in places most magic-wielding folk would never dare venture for stretches of time. But there is where Apollo thrives, allowing him to lean into who others believe him to be: a chilling force of necromantic magic. It's believable even if he never stepped foot in a graveyard, but Apollo is nothing if not committed and thorough to his practice.
The god of truth. The idea is laughable, truly. Truth is such a flimsy concept, so malleable, so easily distorted. Truth is nothing but a word that floats around the air, carrying such a sense of importance when all it does it provide fake comfort. Truth, in it of itself, is a lie. No one knows the truth in its entirety and claiming to is idiotic. Truth is a fib he claims to be beholden to as he strips his clients of their wealth.
The god of prophecy. He is no fortune teller, but to his clients it's all the same. He flashes his cards, casts all sorts of magic so they buy into his claims of communing with the dead, and he feeds them the words they wish to hear. He reads people well enough that his educated guesses are often correct and combined with his unseen servants and things of the like that whisper secrets and such into his ears, Apollo appears as a mind-reading wizard to the patrons of his tent.
The god of healing. He's certainly a healer. Despite his line of work, Apollo has seen more smiles and has received more gratitude than any doctor or lawyer. His sickly-sweet smile is blurred through tears of joy, looking sincere rather than impatient. He's a criminal; he's a businessman. He toys with feelings, oozes sentiment, plays the role of a humble soothsayer that desperate mourners are eager to accept, when the reality is he's not even a good actor. He hides his true feelings terribly, but that never matters- sad people, angry people, grateful people- they're all so easily manipulated.
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EZEKIEL HEADER
✧ wife / evelyn delacroix / 48 / alive
✧ daughter / lorelei delacroix / 27 / alive
✧ daughter / athena delacroix / 26 / alive
✧ daughter / na / na / not created
✧ brother / oliver delacroix / ? / dead
*and all the other delacroixs and calicos
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magical abilities
✧not a strong magic-wielder, but is best at transmutation
✧also strong in spells relating to animal communication and summoning (woodland animals and the like)
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𝗛𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬
Ezekiel Delacroix grew up a bright and bubbly child. The youngest of two boys, he was never held to the same expectations of excellency as his older brother Oliver was. He never envied his brother for the strict standard he was held to, in both the household and in the public eye. it looks tiresome and stressful, always having to watch her every step, knowing that you are held to much different rules than most of those around you. Ezekiel was always free to play outside, dancing the ball back-and-forth with whoever he pleased, while Oliver was inside studying law from a young age.
Ezekiel also knew people expected less of him because he was less capable of things in general. The relief his parents must’ve felt when the more capable brother was born first, as if the gods themselves knew that Ezekiel would not be able to handle it. He was a smart kid, hard-working, patient, but he didn’t have the natural skill that his brother was gifted with. And he was downright ridiculous when it came to magic.
Magically, Ezekiel was next to worthless. His magic was weak, and he never applied himself to the craft in the way a Delacroix should. Of course, he tried to at first, but overtime, it became clear that he would not live up to his family legacy of powerful magic wielders. it was almost worse than him being born with no magic, for at least then he would have an excuse for such pathetic displays. Instead, he was able to cast magic, but only very weak spells and only very very badly. The only time he would ever succeed magically (succeed being very generous- he cast a spell well- he didn't complete great feats of wonder) is when it came to summoning small woodland creatures, and even that can be attributed to the fact that he got along well with animals in general.
Despite this, Ezekiel is able to make up for this area in other ways. His endless charisma made him well liked by others, creating relationships for his family and giving the Delacroix’s a good reputation in the lower classes (well...better than they had previously). His family had never been extremely well liked by the commoners, for they were always looking down upon those beneath them in class and never paying attention to the needs of the citizens living in the slums. This isn't to say that Ezekiel didn’t also carry this prejudice, because he certainly did. The difference was that he knew how to play it different differently.
Instead of wrinkling his nose at the poverty scattered about, he saw, he treated the commoners with respect when he had the misfortune of coming in into contact with one. He never sought them out, not wanting to be accused of associating himself with people lower than him or focusing on the people who were not relevant to his cause. He wasn’t a saint, of course, and he wasn’t going to seek out the dirt and muck that covers some of the darker parts of the city. He was a Delacroix, and he knew what was beneath him, and never ventured there.
A few years after Cogsworks, Ezekiel met his future wife, Evelyn. She was a sweet girl, interesting, and they had similar visions for what life would be in the future. While it was clear that neither of them had any particular interest romantically, they were good friends and married young. Ezekiel was never quite sure why she accepted his proposal so early in life, but for him, it was to avoid the hassle of dating in marriage, especially when there was a good chance it would all fall apart. With Evelyn, there was no need to be romantic or fight to maintain a spark, for their platonic chemistry made it easy to stay friends and raise their family.
Now, they have three daughters, giving birth to their first born very quickly after they wed. They never had too much trouble with any of them, at least not as severe as Ezekiel’s older brother did with his son Elliot ("By God Evelyn, the kid's a mess! Let us hope out daughters will not be swayed to act like him"). Recently, they’ve been having some disagreements with their daughter, Athena, about who she lets herself be seen with. Because of this, Ezekiel has finally been able to see at least a glimmer of what his late brother had been forced to deal with.
Approaching fifty, Ezekiel has never done anything extraordinary with his life. He never expected to, and he's more than comfortable, staying in the shadows of the family, admired when he was out and about, and rather forgotten when he was inside. He pretty much gave up trying to improve his magic. When he absolutely had to when in public, it was not uncommon for there to be silhouettes off in the shadows, casting illusions and other things of the like to make his power seem more impressive. And as usual, everyone falls for their tricks hook line and sinker.
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𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬
As said before, Ezekiel was a bright young man growing up. He’s still a bright man, though not quite so young anymore. He did decently in school, not that it mattered that much, as his future was set in stone as an obedient Delacroix child. He had good friends, a good reputation, but has always been set up perfectly to fall in the shadows of the Delacroix family. As an egotistical noble child, he used to be infuriated by how he always fell behind his older brother Oliver, never seemed to match his excellence and power. Even now, after Oliver's death, at with Ezekiel's age and experience, he still feels this resentment bubble up. He feels it often.
Ezekiel has always been liked by people, but he rarely gains their respect. The respect he has only comes from the fact that he is a Delacroix, who are always revered, no matter who they are as person. People respect, wealth and power, even if they don’t respect those who hold it. Growing up, Ezekiel heard that constantly, whether from his father, his mother, or his brother (and when it came from his brother, oh lord did it get on his nerves. The pure entitlement of those words coming from the mouth of someone who is almost unnoticeably older than him made him want to punch Oliver right in the face). But, moving on from Oliver, as this is not about him, because not everything is about him.
Ezekiel is a suave man, but that does not mean he’s kind. He simply knows politics and how to play the game, dodging questions so effortlessly that you would never notice it, smiling at the right people and speaking in the right cadence. He charismatic, but in the way that a politician is, ever the professional, and one who knows more than you do. But he speaks of your ignorance in such a way that just barely doesn’t make you feel dumb for it. He walks a careful line like this often. One neutrality and of choice, of empowerment and of servitude, one of charity and self-importance, and he does it all while never straying from the path he has envisioned in his mind all along. He does just enough to receive praise for his goodness, but never too much that it interferes with his family's goals.
Nowadays, he’s not out and about much anyways. With Draven as the new patriarch, there is now a young face of the family, which no matter what is usually more likable than that of an old man (no one wants a rich old white dude yapping about the happenings of the world, a fact he still hasn't quite grasped). Occasionally, Ezekiel appears out in the world with his family, or maybe at social events by himself (though this is rarer), but other than that, he has somewhat given up his image as the family figurehead. This doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would, for at least he’s not giving it up to his brother.
Somehow, everything always comes back to his brother. Some selfish part of Ezekiel that he doesn’t hide as well as he thinks he does revels in the fact that at least one thing of Ezekiel’s will not be relinquished to his haughty older sibling. And that thought was enough to make him smile during the late patriarch’s funeral- one that he quickly covered with a cough. I walk a very careful line, brother. Sometimes I wish I had crossed it just enough to throw your success in your fat fugly face.
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OAKLEY HEADER
✧ mother / melissa gallio / 43 / alive
✧ father / jerome gallio / 45 / alive
✧ love interest / elliot delacroix / 20 / alive
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magical abilities
✧ transmutation: vision, mending, message, fabricate flesh to stone
✧ conjuration: find familiar
✧ abjuration: physical shields, no detection,
✧basic knowledge of the other categories
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𝗛𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬
Oakley grew up in a nice little neighborhood in Voxthain. His house was big, but not extravagant, since his parents not wanting to seem to "show-offy". His parents, Melissa and Jerome Gallio, were smiling, bubbly people, always giving to charity and being active in their community. They married young, and tried for years to have a child, overjoyed when Oakley was finally made. Though they never were able to have children after him, they were never truly disappointed, for they had their darling boy to raise, and that was enough.
Very quickly, they realized some 'odd' behavior, as they would call it ("Oh, Oakley's wonderful, strong, smart little boy. He has his oddities, but don't they all?"). He often would not respond when they called his name, he cried when they tried to rock him back and forth to sooth him and became very upset when they were given extra cheesy goldfish for snack at school. When he was learning to read, he refused to read from the bible they gave him, as the thinness of that pages made him anxious. He refused to wear hats but insisted on always wearing socks. Several teachers and babysitters recommended he get a psychoanalysis, for even if this behavior is quite impairing his ability to learn and grow, it's always good to have an understanding of your child to better understand him.
The Gallios were appalled at the idea of their son being anything but normal. They ignored these suggestions and never cared much to get his diagnosed. His quirks never bothered them much, and they were able to deal with it just fine, so it wasn't necessary. When they told him to stop crying and put on his hat, eventually he would. When they told him to just read from the damn bible like a good, faithful boy, he would. With enough good parenting, eventually it seemed these behaviors went away on their own, and Oakley was once again deemed odd rather than completely different
All of that is obviously complete bullshit, of course. Oakley still had these urges and behaviors. He hated how the hats impaired his peripheral vision, he hated how the grains of the floodwood just barely pressed into his feet, and he hated the odd softness of the bible pages. But when his parents kept pushing and pushing, he learned to just accept their hugs when he cried, though he wanted to throw them off of him every time. He learned to smile when speaking to other people so they wouldn't think he was mad at them, even though he never understood why they thought that. At a very young age, Oakley realized it was easier to just listen to what was normal and do it the best he could, even if it was painful for him.
He first considered himself to be autistic when he was in his early years at Cogsworks, from his best friend Ellie. He had quite a few friends, but only a small number who he could truly be himself around. He could stop 'masking' as it were, a term he had found when researching autism. Those people were Ellie Barkwell, and Elliot Delacroix, both people very different from himself, but he never felt like an outsider. Ellie always explained things he didn't understand for him, and they shared a love for bird songs and a burning hatred for geometry. Elliot helped him get his diagnosis for autism, and was a person that Oakley felt instantly comfortable around, and had never, not even once, masked around him.
Now, Oakley is in college to become a forensic pathologist and has a paid internship at a medical examiner's office that is quite a bit away from his apartment. He had a choice in which location but chose the further one specifically because it was where Elliot seemed to go to more in his investigative work. No one knew that that was why Oakley made that decision, or that he had a choice in the matter to begin with, (and no one ever would). Oakley had been harboring a particular liking for Elliot since he was young, but had never told anyone, and barely acknowledged it himself. His parents were already frustrated with his confirmed autism, and insistence on living out of the home. If they found out that he was interested in a man, especially Elliot Delacroix, who they didn't approve of to begin with as a disgraced noble, he could very likely lose them completely.
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𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬
Oakley is a person who's sighs you can recognize on cue. He's constantly rolling his eyes and looking disappointed at his friend's antics, despite being just as unhinged as they are from time to time. For many, getting that sigh made as a reaction to them is like a rite of passage in which Oakley now cares about you enough to disapprove of your actions. He does enjoy the chaos that surrounds him, even relishes it, as is clear from his workspace- an utter wreck, not even worthy of being called an organized mess. But if you even move one thing around in his room, he'll flip.
He's a private person, never truly trusting new people to fully accept his behaviors, as his parents never really did. He has certain questions and conversations he refuses to have and will simply stop talking if he doesn't want to respond. It's frustrating, but he knows he's an awful liar, and saying nothing is the best thing to do to preserve his privacy,
Similarly, when he feels he has made a mistake in his work, hurt someone he cares about, or feels guilty or dumb in any capacity, Oakley will shut down. He barely speaks, stays at home, goes to class, and could continue in that pattern for as long as you could imagine if no one steps in. As hard as his parents were on him (though in a loving way of course, leaving them no sense that they did anything wrong) Oakley is so much stricter with himself. He hardly sees the flaws in other people, making him overanalyze his own, and hating all of them deeply.
Oakley's favorite thing is when other people share something they truly love with him. Even if he doesn't understand it or find it interesting (and he will make it known if he doesn't), he still enjoys the obvious excitement in people's eyes when they explain their findings to him. He remembers all the time people shut him down or spaced out during a conversation and hates each and every one of those memories to this day. He never wants to be the cause of a moment like that for other people and has never understood why a person wouldn't want to see their loved ones happy.
*Oakley is autistic, as detailed above. I am not and am likely to make mistakes when writing a character living life in a way I have not. Please never hesitate to correct me if I write something here, or in a post that is incorrect or harmful. I will also not accept any jokes or insults in regard to his autism, though I hope this community is more mature than that.
**I also mention religious parents in this, a religion very similar to that of Christianity, and it is not me attacking Christianity as a whole. I was/ am raised religious, and though I have my issues with it and no longer fully believe, I have respect for those who are in the faith and understand this is not a representation of all religious households. I myself have been lucky enough to have supportive Christian parents. BUT this is a common occurrence for many queer/ neurodivergent children in religious households, and it is also Oakley's experience.
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✧ magical abilities
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𝗛𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬
childhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intrigue childhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intriguechildhood childhood sad sad trauma trauma boo hoo oooohh intrigue
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𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬
this and this and contradiction and depth and blah this and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blah this and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blahthis and this and contradiction and depth and blah
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seavey wife notes
okay, relationship wise she's really close to her daughter. she knows that her husband doesn't acknowledge the girl and she tries her best to help her. plot wise, there was a point when Melody was being bullied by her cousin mentally and physically and the wife/mom caught on. The patriarch, her husband, didn't do anything initially until she pushed because she hated seeing her daughter broken and the niece was disowned. I think that's it
