Clover Wythe, from Mon Coeur, a roleplay on RPG

Most things pass, but I fear this will not.

Role

Human 5

Age

Gender

Female

Nicknames

Squirrel

No better way to learn but to listen.

【Practical】 ✧ 【Mindful】 ✧ 【Calculating】 ✧ 【Quiet】

Clover is, and always has been, a practical girl. If something is broken, you fix it. If it isn't broken, don't. If there is a job to do, do it. Danger? Avoid it. Unpleasant company? Tell then to stop being so unpleasant. Everything in its place and a place for everything; a time to speak and a time to stay silent; the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb. Mind one's business, mind one's mother, and mind the Lord. She is straightforward, and though she is quiet, she often comes off as blunt. In reality, though, she isn't the coarse, rural girl she was brought up as, despite her short manner of speech and her habits.

Clover is always watching her surroundings. Looking for ways a situation could be twisted to benefit her. Waiting for the right time to tell someone off or shut down an argument to deflect the blame off of herself, but still successfully return the room to order. She does care deeply for those around her, but she also knows that she needs to take care of herself first, and if herself is the only one she can take care of in a situation, well, that's perfectly fine. The best outcome is always the most peaceful one--the one that shuts up the most unpleasant people at once. None of that fancy riposte for her. Waste of time, that is. Just a quick call out and a soft request to cease and desist.

She was, early on, fairly cheerful, carefree, a little thoughtless. She looked at the world around her with stars in her eyes--oh, this brave new world, this strange, fresh place--but over time her gaze has become jaded. She's not bitter, per-say, just tired. She'd rather sleep than continue dealing with all these issues, but she's not willing to put the work in to meet her maker. So she just drifts, stuck in the same habits from years and years ago. She's also become much more matronly. Though she was originally a youngest child, she's become a mother of sorts. She tells the children to stop fighting and she cleans up after them. She does what she has to.

When she's in more private settings, however, the clever side of her reappears. She's a listener, and listen well she does. She enjoys a good gossip with a close friend, and doesn't mind watching a bit of harmless mischief now and again. Especially when it happens to someone who very much deserves it. She's witty and playful, something that is often covered up by her near-perpetual exhaustion. But a good companion can tease it out of her again, wind up the faltering doll a little more.

Though blunt, Clover is rarely actually angry. Unless someone has irreparably damaged something important, or done something infinitely thoughtless, she does not get angry. She doesn't get much of anything these days, actually. She's fallen into a bit of a torpor. A rut. Small thin smiles and weak laughs, for the most part. The raised voice and call outs and the clipped tones are all part of habit. She lost most of her spark long ago. Now she's more a passenger. Ah well.

Can we not do this today?

Appearance

Clover is a bit of a weed. She stands at about 5'5, unusual for her time period, but she is well built. She has black hair with messy bangs covering her eyebrows. She often keeps her hair braided, but when it isn't, it falls in loose, tangled waves. Her tanned cheeks are brushed with freckles, making her look a gangly five years younger than she is. Her knobbly knees and flat chest don't help much. Her eyes are her most striking feature. The left one is a pale grey-green colour, and the other is an amber brown. If it wasn't for the heterochromia, she would have, in her time, been considered cute. Her nose is small and pointed, her lips soft, and her eyes large. Almost doll-like.

Despite the awkwardness of her joints, and the delicate nature of her face, her body is solid as a bricklayer's daughter's should be. Her entire body is covered in those faint reddish freckles, a generous donation from her red-headed father, and her body type is similar to his as well. Broad shoulders, long arms and legs, narrow hips, square hands. Little in the way of femininity. As if her mother donated her face, and her father hewed the rest of her from wood.

Attire

Clover dresses loosely, in shift-like dresses or tunics and breeches. She has little interest in fashion or looking nice, so her choices are typically made with usefulness in mind. She wears no jewelry, but enjoys the occasional ribbon or feather for her hair. A nice change from the usual string she uses to tie her braids.

Hush.
Please.

Likes

【Nature】 ▬▬▬ The great outdoors are her hearth and home.

【Music】 ▬▬▬ A rousing song is a good time, elegant chords, however, are equally fascinating.

【Puzzles】 ▬▬▬ Anything that requires solving is entertainment for days. That goes for mysteries too.

Hobbies

【Gardening】 ▬▬▬ Nothing better than getting one's hands dirty and doing something useful.

【Husbandry】 ▬▬▬ Less interest in owning her own animals, but she enjoys taking care of the other's pets when they forget.

【Gossip】 ▬▬▬ Sharing dirty secrets can be so entertaining.

Dislikes

【Snobbery】 ▬▬▬ Annoying.

【Messes】 ▬▬▬ People who don't clean up after themselves frustrate her to no end.

【Clinginess】 ▬▬▬ She's grown tired of people always getting in her personal space.

Fears

【Death】 ▬▬▬ She's a good Christian girl. She knows she's going to hell when she eventually dies.

【Eternity】 ▬▬▬ She is equally terrified of the prospect of being trapped here for eternity--a different type of hell.

【Large Bodies of Water】 ▬▬▬ No thanks.

Oh dear, this is a bit of an issue.

The Before

Clover killed her mother. Or rather, her birth was her mother's death. This did not sit well with the town when the little child turned out to be a witchling--her odd eyes a horrible omen. Luckily for her, her bereaved father didn't want to waste his wife's final act, and refused to let the child die. Finding a wet nurse who was willing to feed the cursed child was tenuously difficult and expensive for a newly widowed father who already had four mouths to feed, but he did it. Clover grew into a hale young girl. She was, though not openly abused, avoided by the other children, whose parents had warned them against the evil little girl. Anything that went wrong in the village was blamed on her, and despite her father's attempts to protect her, the disapproving stares of the adults in the village took their toll. She became a quiet girl. Her father pitied her, and often took her with him when he worked, so she spent most of her time around the men her father worked with, carrying buckets of water and helping to mix mortar. So she learned how to be social from men who were mostly quiet and spoke bluntly.

Her body grew awkwardly as she aged, her face never losing its youth, though the rest of her became nearly masculine from her work. Her disposition was also awkward, and as she grew of marrying age, her prospect were not bright. A witchling who had, on three separate occasions, caused droughts that impacted the crops for the year, cursed four cows, and caused one of the village women to be unfaithful to her husband by whispering the devil's words to her in her dreams. Very incriminating. Clover didn't mind much, though. Her older sisters were married already, and they didn't seem terribly happy with their partners, and her brother, who was a year older than her, seemed equally unthrilled about his betrothal. She wasn't interested in boys anyway. She wanted to lay bricks like her father. To whom she had proved invaluable after he crippled his foot when she was fifteen. So she carried on as she had carried on, caring for the house, her father, and helping him with work when she could. She mostly ignored her peers. She didn't need friends, anyway. She could just talk to herself if she felt lonely.

The After

She had been walking home to fetch supper for her father when he showed up, dragging an unfamiliar boy behind him, his eyes made of a fire that made her soul shiver with terror. She'd never seen a man look like that before. Before she could think, she too had been snatched up. The next few weeks were spent in a silent haze of disbelief. Once she recovered, she found a new world open to her. A (mostly) kind and gentle man. A group of people who seemed to (mostly) live companionably with each other. Her first few years were cheerful. She was, quiet, wide eyed, surprised whenever she was spoken to, startled whenever a kind gesture was made her way.

She was still terribly blunt, though, and terribly awkward around others. She kept to herself unless Sabine forced her to socialize, spending time learning to read and write under his forgetful hand. As time continued, though, she eased into a sense of normalcy. She was no longer so wide-eyed or easily frightened, and began treating the other humans like family. She quickly instated herself in the house, making sure things ran properly. Cheer lingered for a few decades, before the overwhelming realization that this was her new forever slowly drained the mischief and the cheer from her soul.

x
x

≡"The little king."≡

【 ♥ 】x ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌
【☺ 】x▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌
【 ◑】 ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌
【☢】 ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌
【☠】 ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌ ▌

"Always defer to Nick. He's got a head on his shoulders, and he seems to use it. I'll leave him his fondness for Sabine, though."

Clover pities Nick, and sees herself as a cause of the dissatisfaction he must harbor deep inside (he couldn't possibly be just so...happy all the time.) He was first, after all. And he always acted generally kind towards her, something she'd never experienced from a stranger before arriving at Sabine's home. At one point, she wouldn't have minded bantering with him and helping him cook. As years passed, however, she's grown more quiet, though sometimes, when she's feeling particularly lively, or if he initiates the conversation, she'll still enjoy a bit of a chat.

x
x

≡"The jester."≡

"My dear, sweet fool. I love to listen to her read, and I love to toss words with her in jest. She is so delightfully clever."

At first, Clover looked up to Indie. She seemed so vibrant and interesting. She'd certainly never met a girl with a mouth like hers. Looking up to escalated to following, escalated to imitating, escalated to forming a friendship. For a while, the two were thick as thieves--partners in crime--until, of course, the light started to fade from Clover's eyes. Now, Indigo is the only one who makes Clover seem like her old self for any length of time. She still cares deeply for Indie, but her energy is slowly continuing to decline.

x
x

≡"The queen."≡

"Annoying, mostly. Sometimes a friendly evil."

Clover doesn't mind Nattia picking on her. She's used to that sort of thing. But she can't stand it when the girl picks on others. She won't hesitate to stand up and ask the redhead to stop when she feels that enough is enough. Otherwise, she's pretty grateful that Nattia takes a significant portion of Sabine's time, and when she's feeling particularly unwilling to interact, sometimes she'll linger nearby, knowing that Nattia will ignore her, and if Sabine comes by, he'll focus on her instead.

x
x

≡"The silent knight."≡

"What an odd duck. I've got a soft spot for him, though, beings we were taken together and all. We don't talk near as much as we spend time together."

She won't talk to Lonan unless he talks to her first, usually, other than quiet greetings and polite inquiries of heath. She does take some comfort in his presence, though. He's not unpredictable. He's just a quiet lad who is fed up with his situation. Clover can empathize. If Lonan is being pestered, too, Clover will be the first to stand up for him, though she'll never blatantly state that she's doing it for him.

x
x

≡"Myself."≡

"I am something, aren't I."

Clover has mostly stopped taking care of herself. She just doesn't really care anymore. Too much work.

x
x

≡"The mess."≡

"If I ever, at any point, feel poorly about myself, I just remind myself. At least I'm not him."

Clover thinks Damien is an absolute mess. The sort of mess that sometimes gets on her nerves, occasioning her to tell him off. But otherwise, she is happy to exist near him, and lend a listening ear when he needs one. And some advice. She especially likes his music, and if she hears him playing, she'll usually wander over. He tends to attract Sabine too, though, and while that can sometimes be a protective measure, sometimes it can also be dangerous with Damien, so she is cautious around him.

x
x

≡"The shadow."≡

"Cute, I guess."

Clover, being passive, and Maddie, being skittish, have not crossed paths enough to occasion any kind of in depth conversation or interaction. By the time Maddie appeared, Clover had lost interest in most things already.

x
x

≡"Silent knight 2. Knight harder."≡

"Seems like another Lonan. He doesn't talk to me and I don't talk to him, really."

Clover is unbothered and not particularly interested in Aedan's presence. She will tolerate it, but she has no feelings either way.

x
x

≡"The real madcap here."≡

"Annoying. I wish he'd leave me alone, but there isn't much I can do about that."

Clover is largely ambivalent towards Sabine. She doesn't like it when he gets in her personal space, but she has always quietly tolerated it (and complained to Indigo about it later). She usually tries to avoid him, and when she can't, at least stay out of his reach.