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 Posted: Tue Nov 13, 2012 7:34 pm
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Posted: Thu Nov 15, 2012 9:51 am
 ---- non-chosen
name chloe fairclough.
age 17.
gender female.
occupation whatever necessary.
hometown palisade.
height 5'5".
build average.
eyes brown.
hair red and not entirely straight.
other covered in freckles.
parents daniel fairclough [ deceased ] x analiese fairclough nee winters [ deceased ].
siblings none.
other ms. stauss [ headmistress ].
the various children she lives with.
Chloe's parents first met at her mother's "coming out" dance, Daniel four years her senior and immediately smitten. He had never been one for courtship, but something in the young blonde had stirred his emotions. Unfortunately, Analeise herself was not too keen on lunging directly into a courtship with one man, and while she had danced with her future beau she initially had no interest in him. He was one amid the faces of many, and as her family was not particularly notable nor her mother particularly old-fashioned, she was given her choice. It took the independent-minded young woman nearly a month before her courtship began, and then it was all over. She fell for the man with the bouquet of wildflowers and they were engaged before her next birthday. Analeise left her home above her father's grocery and went to live in a humble home with her new husband, a construction worker placed deeper in the city.
Analeise gave birth to a little girl at 19 years of age, and following a difficult birth the child became her parents' pride and joy. Chloe was raised half as a proper lady and half as a free spirit, learning to cook and clean with her mother as well as being spirited away further into the countryside to appreciate nature. Food was important considering her mother's family business, and trips were often made to farms for fresh produce. Fairy tales were rife, whether from the pages of a book or her mother's mind, and a healthy imagination grew. For the waxing and waning of the family's financial situation, physical possessions were sometimes lacking, but love was abundant. The young couple planned to raise their little girl as a productive member of society, Daniel himself having a more open opinion of women following the courtship of his young wife.
Over time, it seemed as if more children were not an option for the Fairclough family, which brought considerable disappointment. Their home an hearts were open, but pregnancy never came regardless of their prayers. Miscarriage halted serious attempts at familial growth, and so Chloe became a brighter light and, admittedly, a bit of a pampered child. She did well with her education, but with her imagination running rampant, it was not always her main priority. Mothers and teachers scolded her for the amount her head was in the clouds, a bit of a point of contention between the child and authority figures. Daniel grew slightly more strict out of necessity, but always offered a hug and an explanation to punishment. Chloe began to mind her manners to a more acceptable level and studied more diligently, but never seemed to quite lose her exploitative nature.
Chloe was six years old the night she awoke to a strange scent. It was something like a candle, but it evoked some terror in her as her father burst into the room, sooty and sweating as if from a day's work. Senses were sharpened as a roiling blackness was spotted rolling from beneath the door frame. Chloe was carried to the stairwell, at the bottom of which crackled a wild fire. She looked to her father for reassurance, but found only a frantic look that worried her. She called for her mother and there came no response. Without a moment's warning, the child found herself so close to the flame, too close, and then lifted from the floor and bursting through a fragile window beside the working firemen. By the time she was able to scramble to her feet, her father was obscured in bright yellow and orange.
The young Chloe was first sent to a doctor to tend to her injuries, and in that time it seemed as if she had been forgotten. Neighboring homes has also been touched by fire, and nobody had any space for a frightened orphan. The girl had no way to contact extended family, indeed she had little idea that any even existed, and so upon being released from the doctor's care had only the orphanage to turn to. She began terrified, silent and combative, but slowly her talents began to show. She could stitch a fair mend, and adored assisting the cooks in the kitchen when ever possible. It took a good 2 years to bring forth a shade of the child that there had been, for Chloe to begin seeking quiet friendships and seeing the world with a little more light. Over the years she became a common face in the orphanage, working diligently to "earn her keep" and even occasionally bringing funds back to the headmistress to assist in upkeep. There were a dozen children at any time, and for some reason it seemed that, again, Chloe went overlooked. Perhaps it was her spirited nature, or her apparent lack of trying... but adoption never came. As she grew older, the girl began taking temporary housekeeping jobs, as well as providing services around the orphanage such as mending, cooking, and acting as governess. The children adored her and their excursions into the world for experience or training, and she learned with them the lessons a proper school may have taught her.
It has been a decade since the fire, and Chloe has become a staple. She is not particularly employed, but in the same line is appreciated in what she does. Where other women may seek employment, Chloe works for free, delivering her funds back to home, to her family, and so the age at which children are generally expelled, she has met the mark and is gratefully allowed to remain a permanent worker.
It goes without saying that Chloe is as familiar with the societal norms as any young woman. That does not mean, however, that she was particularly well-trained. Having lost her mother at such a tender age and without proper lessons in decorum and practice, the girl has developed her own opinions on "proper". As it was, her mother was not particularly keen on the uneducated nature of women and the expectation that they required a man to exist. Chloe will not go around wearing slacks, for example, but also sees no point in taking an unmarried chaperone everywhere she goes or corseting her waist. She had no coming-out and was never properly introduced to normal society, and now the world that she knows expects her to be a thief and a ruffian simply for lacking a current parental influence. Why worry, then, what they think of her because she moves freely about the city and may be prone to more intellectual pursuits? Still, she has gathered some basic respect for those she was taught deserved it; her elders, for one, and for another the classes well above her. When she lived with her parents, they were fairly stable... but the wealthy were always three steps ahead. Her current, entirely un-funded existence and domesticity only serves to strengthen this belief.
There was no particular impression of religion in Chloe's young life either, but there has always been some kind of spiritual aspect within her. She can sometimes be found addressing nobody at all, or throwing her arms up in reverence of nature and life itself. It cannot quite be called a religion in and of itself; she knows no deities and would be apt to call the notion silly if it was offered, but she knows that there is a swelling in her chest when she finds herself in the sunlight, or after reading a particularly powerful poem, or when tucking the children into bed. She also thrives on exploration and knowledge. When given a spare moment, it is more likely that she will explore an abandoned building than sit on a park bench fanning herself. She has even dared to read in public, although she realizes that it may risk her attractiveness to potential suitors... as if there were any. The poor girl's self-esteem is not the grandest, whether it be her hair or her complexion or something only she can see. It lends itself to calming her free spirit occasionally by forcing her insecurities into a strong shyness.
Being orphaned has not been without its repercussions, of course. Chloe finds herself more comfortable with children than adults or even those her age. She will work beneath the men and women who are employed part-time at the orphanage, but has issues seeing herself as an equal or offering them advice. She will always be a child to the adults the same as she will always be an adult to the children. When removed from those she sees as "leaders", she easily slips into the leadership role. Trips with the children involve absurd amounts or organization and planning, both of which are responsibilities that Chloe will gladly take. She makes most meals and doles out most of the punishments in the way she was taught, gently and with explanation. She is the eye watching over the children while Ms. Stauss works in administration [ something Chloe knows nothing about ] and when she returns, Chloe is known to take orders and step down, as is expected of her. It's not to say that Ms. Stauss is not kind. She adores the girl and gladly accepts her help and allows her to live in the children's dorms, but she is a busy woman with a job to do and cannot always lend a sympathetic ear, which Chloe considers far too silly to ask of her even with the relationship they have developed.
[ "candrus" art ]
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Posted: Thu Nov 15, 2012 9:53 am
---- the guardian
name ???
stage totem.
gender female.
personality seems to exude a soft, fruity fragrance.
[ totem ] [ doe ]
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Posted: Thu Nov 15, 2012 9:54 am
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Posted: Thu Nov 15, 2012 9:56 am
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Posted: Thu Jan 03, 2013 6:31 pm
[ sweet silence ]
It was dark, calm and quiet. Times like these did not come often to Ms. Stauss' Home for Wayward Children, and Chloe enjoyed them like nothing else. There was a mystery and a passion in them, and every time the girl peered out of her window and into the stars there was a wooly swelling in her chest that felt so much like she wanted to throw her arms out and turn her face up to the sky. She gave herself easily to the nighttime hours, when they were without whinging children and nightmares.
For quite some time, Chloe had her own bed in with the rest of the children who slept in rows in the largest room in the building. Only three years had passed since Ms. Stauss had surprised her with her own little room, a gift from her and her carpenter nephew for Chloe's fourteenth birthday. By that time it had become obvious that, first, Chloe would not be leaving the orphanage any time soon and, secondly, that she was quite handy in the duties generally assigned to hired hands who could not be present overnight or on holidays. It was just a little room that shared a pair of walls with the children, the door adorned with a low silver bell. She was still reachable here by anyone that may need her and she could hear the cries of a frightened child if need be, but having them knock trained her ears to wake her at the slightest shifting of the old building. The ringing of a bell was not something that generally happened outside of a summons.
The only furniture in the room was a chair, a bed and a chest beside it, but there was a large window for daydreaming behind. At the moment Chloe sat in her nightgown before her chest, rendering it a makeshift desk.
This face had appeared in her journal before, albeit less refined and lacking some recognition. Now it had appeared again amidst a simple diagram of some nearby constellations and beside the silhouette of a man in a top hat with a horse just beside him. Pencil poised, the girl added a few lines that she had missed after their first dance. His lips were far softer. His eyes were... warmer. His smile no longer frightened her.
With a gentle sigh she relaxed backward, the quiet creaking of her chair a warm comfort. Oh, her dear Coincidence, what in the world were you? There was so much she wished to learn about him, and such feelings in her heart. She was certain now that he was an important figure in her life, even if it was just to meet occasionally and lift her spirits; to give her a look at another world. How different he was...
A phrase wandered across her mind and per her journal's rules she scrawled it down in a somewhat under-practiced hand:
He sings such sweet silence.
Her artistic renderings ceased then to begin a written recounting of events, of the day, of the evening, and most of all of her confusing emotions. With only children and the cause of such feelings to relate to, these sorts of things remained hidden in her chest until she had them sorted out properly. The girl hummed softly to herself, still pleased and on an emotional high with green and silver on her mind.
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Posted: Mon Nov 04, 2013 5:00 pm
[ the choosing ]
The wind whispered softly through her hair. The sun beamed down with a gentle embrace.
The field was still green, lush but without wildflowers. It extended eternally in every direction, having no visible horizon nor break in its existence. She was barefoot and dressed in soft white fabric which she could not name. She clasped her hands beneath her bosom, peering curiously about her. It was too warm to be autumn, and yet she knew that Palisade was littered with the cold drifts of fallen leaves. Where was she and, even better, why was she there?
With courage unspoken, Chloe began forward. Somehow this path held the most potential, or perhaps it was only natural for one to begin in the way one was facing. Her hands fell to her sides as curiosity overtook her trepidation, but she made it only a few steps before she felt a gentle tug. The girl turned slowly to find her arm pressed against a thin line.
A thread.
She raised gentle fingertips to test the beam and found it quite average, quite normal, except that it extended out behind her and disappeared in the distance. A short tug revealed that it was well-tied to whatever existed on the other end; a tree, perhaps, or the rail on a porch. Her interest laid not in the other end, however; in the distance that she appeared to have traveled this far, but instead in the empty space before her. She turned again, unfazed, and once again set her toes to the dewy grass. The thread tugged at the center of her back, but she paid it no mind as it unraveled. She had somewhere to be, although she wasn't sure where, and no mere wardrobe malfunction was going to stop her.
The thread traveled down and around as she proceeded, stopping at the waist and beginning around to the left. The skirt of her dress began to loosen, but something was appearing upon the horizon. Chloe's gentle steps turned to a harried jog, and in a moment her skirt was gone. It fell to the grass and she simply stepped out, continuing toward the shadow approaching on the horizon.
There stood the Wardwood, with a border as endless as her open field. Small groups of citizens lined its edge, dressed in formal finery and whispering between themselves. Her step slowed.
Chloe was suddenly starkly aware that her petticoat was exposed, and well expected the eyes that turned on her. Each guest turned to face the girl as she entered their domain, each set of eyes a strange, nameless hue. Their concern was apparently in the hissing of their voices, but none made any move to stop her. Amongst them stood the Countess of Alderin and her husband, dear Claudia and the ladies from the Red Bird, all mingling together.
With a sudden tearing sound, Chloe's left sleeve fell free from her arm and fluttered to the ground. She ceased her in approached, startled by the sound, staring with her eyes wide. There rose a collective gasp from the congregation, but then there was silence. There was only the rustle from well-stitched gowns tumbling through the breeze.
Chloe's brow furrowed. Was that it? They were to react in shock, and let her be? It was a ridiculous situation, really. Who were they to stand and judge, and then not move?
Staunch rebellion in her heart, the girl reached up and loosened the stitches of her right sleeve. Her thread relented, and with a series of pops drifted gently to her lower back. The sleeve was lifted defiantly, and then dropped as well. This time, there was no gasp. They watched like a photograph, frozen in time.
Discomfort clawed at Chloe's shoulders as she grew closer, shoulder-to-shoulder with the nearest noble. She had to nearly brush those on either side to break through the line, and when she turned to see what the crowd had done, they stared still at the distance, at only a thin white thread stretching off into oblivion.
She stopped now, turning her eyes to the sky. Green leaves and strong branches wove together to obscure the clouds, day turning to night in an instant. The ground beneath her feet was now a blanket of rotting leaves and cool dirt. Blackened foliage curled up between her toes and stuck, almost as if alive. She rolled on her heels and peered around her.
It was cold. It was dark.
She was not afraid.
Chloe continued now with new resolve, weaving only slightly to dodge oncoming trees. Her thread acted as a memory of where she had been, but she had no urge to retreat. It was not until she saw the clearing that she stopped. It was not her will to fail, but instead the outside force of her stay clutching at her breast. It suddenly seemed confining, strangling. Something she wore every day had become a nuisance.
The girl reached back, feeling the eyelets and cord that bound her stay together. Her thread had become a rope, sewn through metal rings to afford modesty and support. The bow had gone, but the garment stuck fast. She could keep it on and stay where she stood, or she could remove it and continue on.
After only a moment's hesitation, Chloe wiggled her fingers between the loops and pulled the band open, dropping low as her breasts fell free and escaped from beneath her vestment to run on. She was faster now. Urgency nipped at her heels. She had somewhere to be.
There was still that familiar tug, now working at her waistband, but she could not be stopped. Her stay remained suspended behind her like the bodice of an invisible maiden.
Branches emerged between her toes, scratching at her soles and coaxing the sting of broken flesh. Tears welled in Chloe's eyes, but she felt a terrible pull, an invisible thread tugging counter to her clothing in desperate need. There was something there for her; something great and horrible. The sky was darkening, and as she broke into a sprint her pantelets fell in two. Tangled in their confines, Chloe stumbled and tumbled to all fours. Her legs were stretched behind her, still held close in cotton tubes meant to preserve modesty.
Only then did she hear the growls.
They were all around her, punctuating the eyes that lit like lamps from the depths of the wood. They were approaching at a leisurely pace, but Chloe knew what they meant. They were pain. They were death.
Panic gripping her heart, the girl threw herself to a sitting position and grabbed at her bloomers, trying to tear and rip them free. Her hair caught in the brambles that heightened her struggle and cried out to the wood to help her. There they were, white teeth and eyes heralded by the musty stench of thick fur. She kicked violently and shrieked, and one leg was free. She tried to run then, to get away, but her other side lay tangled in the briars. Her skin wept. White fabric was staining crimson.
Shapes began to emerge all around her, hulking masses with shaggy haunches and sinew stretched near breaking. They were going to take her and tear her apart. They would render her another victim of their slaughter beneath the man they called Gwyn. She sat splayed, pushed up on her palms and feeling acceptance drain in. If today was her day, then she would go. She would withstand the pain and travel into the realm of spirits to see what the world held for her there. Perhaps her parents waited for her. Certainly they would help her through the agony of being torn limb from limb as the wolves murdered and feasted for reasons unknown.
It was then that the thread unraveled, freeing her for the final moment as the breath of the beasts roiled up around her.
It was no longer cold.
There was no more pain.
Chloe roared in indignation and leaped to her feet, sprinting now for the clearing that lay before her. Her hair bounced at her back and she tore free the ribbon, allowing ginger tresses to billow behind her as she ran. Her heart was full, was free, and suddenly she was flying. She soared over the heads of the wolves, pulled forward by her own frantic pace and upward by a source unknown. In the air hung the tangled roots of some great god-tree, subsisting on the sweet air and energy of the world alone. She felt the energy drop with a heave in her heart, and Chloe grasped in desperation one of the knitted branches.
Her thread had reached its end, tearing her petticoat in two up the back. It seemed so useless now. There was no modesty here. Who would see her? There was only the blue sky and the warm breeze caressing her calves, her thighs, and realms unexplored. With a soft grunt, Chloe released one arm. She felt for a moment as if she may fall, but only her strap released. She turned now to her other arm, and watched in indifference as her petticoat fluttered away toward the tops of the trees, a white dove or retreating angel that carried down with it the thread that had followed a poor girl from the glen. Now she hung naked, bared to all the world as pure as she was born, and she pulled the roots with both arms.
There was a strength in her that she had never known, like the thickest cord from the largest ship. She was able to draw herself beyond the roots with ease, clutching then at the bark and slowly standing, flush with the tree at its great height.
A knot stood just at her chest, eye-shaped and willing her to peer inside. Instead she reached, feeling her fingers curl around something cool and smooth. She showed in her palm the shape of a small white deer, head lifted proudly against the wind. Chloe clutched the totem to her breast and threw her own head to the sky, her hair billowing about her cheeks. There was no fear, only a great, powerful feeling radiating from her chest and into the world, the whole world beyond.
- - -
Chloe startled awake and immediately reached for her collarbone. There sat the reassuring hem of her nightshirt, intact as ever. The orphanage was chilled, and she brought her blanket with her as she sat to peer out the window. In the distance, lamps still flickered against the night. Shadows crept down the alleys and through the gutters, but they suddenly did not seem so dark.
Her breath heaved in her chest, and she knew only one thing.
She had to go.
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