Profession: Writer and genteel vagabond
Age: 20-ish
Lenore grew up in a relatively well-off, albeit large, family – the eldest of nine children. Her mother had always had high hopes of a good marriage-bond between the son of a member of Society and Lenore since she was born, and never let Lenore hear the end of it. However, instead of resigning Lenore to her fate, the endless prattling and plotting of her mother completely turned her against the idea; by the age of 12, she fought outright whenever the subject was brought up. Her father remained largely ignorant of the whole ideal (as far as Lenore could tell, at least), brushing it off as “a wife’s duty” to see to her daughter’s respectable marriage arrangements.
To make things worse, she was quite outspoken about her dreams of becoming an author, which managed to shock even her father. Women in his household either married and took care of their house, or had a respectable profession, like becoming a seamstress or schoolteacher. None of that “writer” nonsense, gallivanting about with Lord knows what type of crowds. Lenore usually replied to this that writing was in her blood – look at their famous ancestor! This usually achieved her only a banishment to her bedroom suite, with her father roaring after her that no one could possibly trace their roots back that far, that the John Donne connection was merely a fiction thought up by her grandfather to sound more grandiose, and that he wrote trash anyway so who would want to claim a link with him!*
By the age of 17, it was all planned and settled, without Lenore’s consent – she was to be married and forget the dream of writing for a living. The groom-to-be was nice enough – a tad bit foppish, perhaps a little too much of a coddled mother’s darling, and a hint reluctant about the arrangement as well, but she had no direct complaints. The way it was handled, though! May I be damned if I sit back and allow this to happen, she thought, promptly packed a travelling bag and ran away. Oh, sure, she still sends letters back home now and again, to show that she is indeed alive and well, but has never once regretted the decision to leave. She does experience a touch of homesick longing from time to time; however, this stems more from wanting a "real" home to belong to, rather than regret for her actions.
Lenore is quite able to talk her way into and out of situations (trouble and otherwise) easily, which is partially how she came to be on the Anachronism. She was forced to travel on foot after an experimental invention (a steam-powered bicycle) broke down; an acquaintance in the last city gave it to her, and swore that it worked. That was all well and good, until it fell completely apart in the middle of nowhere. “A fine idea,” she muttered, pushing through the low branches, “but did he have to be so cheap and use shoddy materials! The screws were completely worn to nubs (if they haven’t snapped inside the holes, that is), I can’t even fix it up enough to get me to the next town. A complete piece of… oh, hellooo, what have we here?” The airship hovered in a clearing, busy with what appeared to be routine maintenance. “What a fine way to travel!” She put on a sunny smile and strode aboard, acting as if she belonged perfectly. The strange part was that no one seemed to question her presence; she even found a prepared, empty room apparently waiting for her (or at least, freshly abandoned, and the owner never came back to claim it). And so Lenore made herself at home (paying passage expenses when need be), and has stayed on or near the ship ever since - except when the traveling bug hit her, but she always returned.
She supports herself by writing articles (or, rather, what she is fond of calling “tripe”) for the penny rags; it isn’t exactly the cutting edge novel she expected to become famous for, but it pays well enough. She adores tinkering with things – the more gears the better – but fully realizes that she is still a novice at devices more intricate than a pulley. If she isn’t in her room (her quarters have quite a large "library" of sorts in it - books are quite literally everywhere) or squirreled away somewhere writing (usually because a deadline is fast approaching), she may often be found following the mechanics, or inventors, or scientists, or anyone else that catches her fancy, around asking questions. She loves debating as well, and will jump into any argument with a subject that interests her. She reads quite often, and is fond of using the Socratic method to debate (even though that isn’t her only way of doing that by far). However, she does also know when to keep her mouth shut (luckily for her, though, the occasions requiring this happen infrequently).
Lenore is generally cheerful and mellow in temper, and it takes a lot to get her annoyed or angry; however, she does have a fierce temper when fired up – luckily for those around her those temperamental fits don’t last long. She laughs quite often - both out of happiness, and to cover up whatever other feelings she might have (nervousness, embarrassment, etc). She adores music almost as much as the written word, and is especially fond of the folk music of Ireland and the area, as well as classical masters both old and new. Unfortunately, she has no musical talent herself, and is (according to her music teacher) the only one to ever manage to force a piano to sound like a hissing, meowling cat.
Physically, she is on the shorter side, with naturally tan skin and black hair. Her grey eyes are usually shining warmly, but can be as hard as coal when she's mad. Run when you see them like this. While envying trousers and those who wear them (both men and women), she refuses to actually don them - some aspects of her "proper" upbringing are hard to abandon. However, flying through the air quickly showed her the necessity of having a pair of goggles nearby at all times, so she will only very rarely be seen without them.
*Neither Lenore’s nor the author’s point of view by far
