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Celeste Rinehart

"You know how they say good things come in small packages?"

0 · 345 views · located in Modern-day zombie apocalypse.

a character in “Dead Morning America”, as played by desire99600




"Well it's Celeste, but if you're going to call me that, pronounce it right. It's Suh-lest. Not Kel-est." Celeste Marie Rinehart

Twenty years old.


"Well you should really be able to tell." Female


"It hasn't been easy, but I've made the best of it." Celeste was born to a small, but happy family in a small, but friendly Alabama town. Her mother, Laila Smith was a pretty Native American woman who had lived on a reserve with her tribe her entire life until Johnathon Rinehart came sweeping through. The two of the fell in love instantly, and Laila left everything behind to be with him, moving to a tiny farmtown in Alabama. John and Laila were married and, not a year later, Laila discovered she was pregnant with twins. Portia and Clinton, Celeste's older siblings. Two years later, Laila was pregnant once again, this time with Celeste.

Though she may have been born into a happy family, she was raised in a broken home. Five years after her birth, Celeste's fathers job called for him to move to New York. The family would have to pack up and start all over somewhere new. Somewhere completely alien. Her mother refused to go to the city. She'd already left her life behind once for him, she was not about to do it again. She had never been a centimeter outside Alabama borders and she explained to Celeste's father that New York would probably send her into shock. This made Johnathon angry.

In the middle of the night, he left, taking five-year-old Celeste and seven-year-olds Portia and Clinton with him, leaving her mother to wake and find herself alone. Throughout the long drive there, Celeste's father didn't stop. He just kept driving and driving, anger fueling him late into the night, and when he could hardly keep his eyes open, he'd simply pop open a beer, grow even more angry, and keep going. So, one night at midnight, while the three children slept peacefully in the back seat, Johnathon Rinehart swerved into an oncoming semi truck.

Everyone died but Celeste. She made it out with scars and bruises, but still very much alive. Portia had been thrown through the windshield and Clinton's neck snapped upon impact. Her fathers body had been crushed so badly it was hardly recognizable. And remarkably, five-year-old Celeste was still alive, every bone in her body intact. Even if her family no longer was.

News of the crash reached her mother and Celeste was sent home to a broken woman. While she was too young to truly grasp what had happened, Laila Rinehart had lost a husband and two children in one night, the last conversation she'd ever had with him had been shrieked at the top of her lungs. Laila was diagnosed with depression and for the next fourteen years of her life, Celeste was lucky if she could get her mother out of her room. Some days were good days and the woman sang beautifully while making pancakes and laughing with her daughter. Others, Celeste was lucky if her mother would brush her hair or set down her drink to look her in the eye.

During Celeste's eighteenth year, she wasn't making enough money to pay for her mothers medications and had to constantly make sure someone was watching the broken woman, leaving her to live every day in fear that her mother would take her life while she was at work, unable to be there for her. On the anniversary of the crash, Laila Rinehart finally did it, leaving Celeste utterly alone.

Suddenly unable to stand the suffocating smallness of the town she'd loved for nineteen years, Celeste packed up and moved to the city, ready to leave her life behind her. Shortly after her mothers suicide, Celeste was diagnosed with depression, but not as severe as Laila's. As long as she took her medication, she was perfectly okay. When she arrived in the city, Celeste ound that it was a cruel place and, having trouble finding somewhere to stay, roomed up with a young girl who'd had nearly as rough of a life as herself and three older boys they tried their best to avoid.

Nyx Goldwin and her were fast friends, while Nyx was strong and abrasive, Celeste was weak and quiet. They were polar opposites, and yet somehow their friendship worked. They lived together for eleven months until Celeste was offered a promotion in a major fashion company. Her higher salary allowed her to buy a larger, nicer apartment, but Nyx wasn't making enough to cover the monthly fee so the two of them went their separate ways and Celeste found herself utterly alone once again.

Litte House - The Fray
She doesn't look, she doesn't see
Opens up for nobody
Figures out, she figures out
Narrow line, she can't decide
Everything short of suicide
Never hurts, nearly works

Something is scratching
Its way out
Something you want
To forget about

A part of you that'll never show
You're the only one that'll ever know
Take it back when it all began
Take your time, would you understand
What it's all about?
What it's all about?

Something is scratching
Its way out
Something you want
To forget about

No one expects
You to get up
All on your own with
No one around


So begins...

Celeste Rinehart's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Jericho Winters Character Portrait: Avalon Lynell Goldwin Character Portrait: Tim Flenn Character Portrait: Celeste Rinehart Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin Character Portrait: Justin Case
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In her dream, Nyx was happy and laughing. She was laying on the large, four-post bed in her parents room, the velvet of the rarely used covers soft against her stomach. Around her rose the four wooden posts of the bed holding up a sheer white canopy. Beside her lay her sister Avalon. Everything was bathed in a surreal beauty, colors brighter than she remembered them, Avalon's skin practically luminescent, the sheer white canopy enveloping them in their own little world of childish laughter and secrets.

Yet somehow the two blond girls seemed far away. Nyx watched herself lean over and giggle something secret in Avalon's ear who reacted by throwing her blond head back in laughter. She had had so many bad memories in her life that standing here at the edge of this world, observing this happy one now hurt. She shouldn't feel like an outsider. The happy girl on the bed with her sister was
her this was her memory and yet she felt as though she was watching a movie. Only able to watch the scene, not feel the emotions.

The two girls before her rolled onto their backs in laughter and stared up at the wispy white canopy as their giggles slowly died away breathlessly. This room had always been where Nyx and Avalon had shared their secrets and come to laugh, talk, do homework, or read. Her parents were nearly never home so their room was often unused, but sitting on the bed, the two of them had almost felt their presence. As if the white canopy walls were a good enough substitute for their mothers arms.

The scene before her made her smile as well as yearn to be there. To be them.

Seconds later, the scene changed as dreams do, yet Nyx was still in the same room. The two girls on the bed were a little older now, but this time they weren't happy and giggling. This time they were wickedly whispering back and forth in angry tones about what they were going to do to the new nanny. How they were going to drive her away.

Again the scene changed and the girls were older still, sitting together under the canopy. Nyx's heart wrenched as she watched Avalon break down into sobs, throwing her arms around her dream-self. She watched as the two girls held each other for a long time, and now Nyx truly connected with the picture before her. The emotions flooded her and she closed her eyes. These were emotions she was familiar with, things she knew how to handle.

The scene then changed one last time, and this time, Nyx was no longer viewing her life from the outside. And she was no longer in the safety if her parents bedroom. Now she stood outdoors. Trees stretched up around her, but not in the wild way of the forest, in a trim, precise way. Like a garden or something. The smells of Autumn drifted towards her on a cool breeze and Nyx took a few steps. What was she supposed to be seeing here? Another few steps, and she tripped over a rock, falling flat on her face.

On the ground, Nyx turned to find that what she thought had been a rock at first, was actually a headstone. Looking down among the trees, she realized that others stretched in long rows between the trunks. This particular one was small and grown over with roots of a large maple. Hands shaking, Nyx reached forward to yank away the roots, fearing what she would find there.

One final tug and the name was clearly visible. A slight shriek exploded from her as she fell back into the dirt in startled surprise, staring at the engraved letters in disbelief: "Avalon Goldwin" She shook her head frantically and stood. This no longer felt like a dream. Afterall, how could a dream be so detailed? Right down to the smell of the Autumn leaves.

Fearfully, she stood and took off running only to be tripped by another gravestone. This one was blank, but as she watched, letters began to etch themselves into the stone: N.
Oh God. Y. Oh God. X. Nyx closed her eyes, unable to watch.

When she opened them again, they were still there, clear as day: "Nyx Goldwin."


Celeste woke to a continual banging at her door. Her heart jumped into her throat and she had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming. Blood trickled from the cut and suddenly the pounding grew more frantic. Whatever was on the other side had smelled her blood. Fuck. Running her fingers through her long brown hair, Celeste shrank back into the corner of the room, wrapping her arms tight around her knees. Maybe it was better if she died. Then this would all be over anyway right?

She had barely gotten an hour of sleep in three days when she came to the building she was in now. It was seemingly empty and Celeste had needed a serious recharge so she'd decided to stay the night in one of the rooms. Unfortunately, there was neither electricity nor running water in any of the rooms. She knew how to cook from her days on the farm, but without food that would be impossible and without running water, so was a shower. She was still dressed in the checked yellow sundress she'd put on two days ago. The lace edges were torn and one of the straps was broken, hanging limply on her shoulder.

The only form of supplies Celeste had left home with was a metal bat she'd found in a truck and her pills. She knew how to swing the bat at least. She'd been on a softball team back in Alabama, but that was all the self defense she knew. The beating at the door grew louder and a growl rumbled on the other side.

Celeste couldn't help it. She let out a squeak and squeezed herself tighter, closing her eyes and burying her face in her knees a moment before lifting her head. She was going to die here in an alien city in someone else's apartment and no one would ever know or care. But it would all end. She would finally be free of this hell.

No. She couldn't think like that. Why was she thinking so morbidly? Celeste glanced at the window. It was late afternoon. She'd been asleep for hours, meaning it'd been hours since she'd taken her medication. Pinching her eyes shut tight, she tried to steady her breathing as she reached into the small pocket in her sundress and pulled out a baggie of white pills.

Not wanting to think about what would happen when she ran out, Celeste took one and put them away without bothering to see how many were left.

Looking back to the door again, she found that the creature was almost finished breaking it down. It could have simply pushed it open by now for sure, but it seemed absorbed in fully breaking off the door before it got to her. Stupid creatures. Apparently they were only able to focus on one thing at a time. Shaking, Celeste rose, bat hanging at her side.

She pressed her shoulder blades into the corner and closed her eyes as she raised her bat and placed it tenetively on her shoulder. The creature on the other side of the door was a hunter. How long had if been stalking her? From what she'd seen, they could move incredibly fast. She better take it out while it was still preoccupied.

Cautiously, grip on the bat firm, Celeste crossed the room to the feral thing beating on the door. It saw her and grew frantic, reaching out a hand to grab at her. She squeaked and jumped back avoiding a scratch, but it managed to grab hold of her dress, tearing a clean chunk out of the bottom.

Celeste took a second to compose herself before stepping back up to the thing. This time she didn't hesitate. Instead, she slammed her bat down on the zombie's neck with a sickening crack. It fell with a thud. Just to be sure, she hit it again in the skull with another crack before deciding that, without a door, the apartment was no longer safe.

Celeste made her way down to the ground floor and slipped out a side door that opened up into an alley. She stopped to press her back against the wall and slide to the ground, breathing heavily, trying to get a grip on herself. She'd just killed a person. It may have been out for her blood and infected, but it had been a living, breathing, human once.

Slowly, the panic drained away and Celeste focused on her surroundings. Were those... voices? As far as she knew, the infected couldn't talk. They had to be people. But would they kill her instantly? Celeste shook that off. What reason would they have? She had nothing but her medication, the clothes on her back, and the bat in her hand. Maybe these people were okay.

Standing, she followed the voices down the alley to a door, hanging slightly open on it's hinges. The door seemed to be the back door of a bar. She peeked in without quite stepping in. Yes. Definitely people. All standing in the bar talking with their backs to her. Celeste pulled her head from the doorway and pressed herself to the alley wall to breathe a second. Okay, you can do this. Just don't look threatening and they might spare you. She glanced down at herself in her torn dress, holding nothing but a bat, her small delicate form. Well at least she didn't have to worry about intimidating them. The only reason they'd have to kill her is because they didn't want her slowing them down. She'd just hand over her bat if they wanted it that bad. No need to die over it.

Once she reassured herself, Celeste let the bat hang at her side, making it obvious that she had no intention of using it before slowly pushing the door open and stepping inside. The ground was cold on her bare feet and the people still had their backs to her. She took the second to look them over. A girl with a dog smoking a cigarette, a girl with blue hair, and three boys.

Again she moved across the vast space between them slowly, cautiously, and stepping so light and delicately she made no noise for she'd had to ditch the heels she'd had on the first day. "Don't kill me." She spoke tentatively, fear evident on her face as she crept forward, every muscle in her body ready to flee in an instant if she had to.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Owen James Calley Character Portrait: Celeste Rinehart Character Portrait: Nyx Goldwin Character Portrait: Kamille Robinson Character Portrait: Kaylie Thorton Character Portrait:
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"Nyx," The sound of her name drifted into her dreams, and she sat up, gun in hand, before he'd even managed to get the next part out. "Nyx, get up; it's time to get moving." When the fear from her dream finally faded, Nyx realized it was Monday who'd spoken and lowered her gun to the couch again. He walked away and she dropped her face into her hands with a deep groan. For the first time in two days she felt like she'd actually had enough sleep. Even if it had been wrought with nightmares.

Rubbing her eyes, she stood and stretched her arms above her with a yawn, pulling her muscles. She turned to the couch and grabbed both her knife and her gun before the sharp smell of gasoline started to make her eyes water. She turned, eyebrows knit in confusion, as she walked out into the kitchen to find Monday dumping gas on everything. At first she just stood and watched, but then she moved past him and down the hall towards where Kamille had slept. He could do what he wanted. If he wanted to light the house on fire, who was she to stop him? It was his afterall.

When she reached the room, she pushed open the door gently and went in. "Kamille." She said, sleep still choking her voice as she fumbled for a light switch. Her hand managed to swipe on and suddenly the room was illuminated with light and Nyx crossed to where Kamille was sleeping and nudged her. "Time to get going Kamille." She said again before turning and leaving, walking back out into the kitchen with a yawn.

Her bag was still laying unzipped on the counter so she reached over and zipped it up before pulling herself up and taking a seat next to it, watching Monday with a yawn. "Why exactly do you want to burn your house?" She asked, deciding she wanted to know afterall. As she watched him, she sighed. "Did you even get any sleep?"


The first one to talk was the girl with the dog. "Stay back." The young woman told the dog and Celeste's eyes turned sharply to her as she reached out a cautious hand. She looked to be older than her, but not by too much. Maybe a year or two. "Trust me, you're the last thing we want to kill." She smirked, "Having people around probably keeps the insanity levels down." She glanced at the rest of the group one by one, green eyes roaming over each one before turning to the woman again. The joke went over Celeste's head, and she just nodded meekly, still ready to run if necessary.

"You can call me Phoenix." She said with a nod and then seemed to be waiting for something. Oh. Right. For the others to introduce themselves. Celeste nodded at Phoenix and managed a small fake smile, stepping tentetivly closer.

"I'm Celeste Rinehart." She said quietly. "Not really the survival type.. It's kind of a miracle I've made it this far. She crossed her arms over her chest, letting her bat hang uselessly at her hip. They all looked like badass, action movie types. What did she look like to them with her tiny build and torn dress? Like the stupid one in the movie that always gets the group killed? The damsel in distress? She bit her lip. She hated asking things of people, but if there was ever a better group to protect her, it was these people.

That is, if they'd take her.