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Victory Ginsburg

The Creator

0 · 198 views · located in Precaria

a character in “Forsaken Kingdom”, as played by MolecularMachine


Name: Victory Ginsburg (The residents of Precaria all know her as Victory, but she has taken to introducing herself as Vicky.)
Age: 22
Gender: Female
Height: 5'6"
Weight: 120
Physical Description: Although she’s a little short, Victory has a slender build and a swanlike neck. She has precisely-managed hazelnut skin and straight, shoulder-length hair that she keeps typically in a low ponytail. Her hands are quick and fidgety, and she keeps her fingernails cropped short and neatly painted. She has a small scar on her left jaw from a playground accident when she was seven, though she does her best to cover it with makeup. She has full lips, wide brown eyes, and a small, upturned nose. When she’s in the house, she wears t-shirts and sweatpants or yoga pants. When she’s out, she wears buttoned blouses, cashmere, slacks, and corduroy.

Personality Description (Present):

Victory is hardworking, perfectionistic, and worrisome. When she had to balance color guard, homework, and a job in high school, she learned to deal with stress and time constraints, and now she finds it difficult to sit still. She puts others ahead of herself, which often leads to more trouble for her than benefit for others. She tries to make herself appear endlessly energetic when, in reality, she is often exhausted from overwork and worry.

Personality Description (Past):

When Victory was a young child, she was timid, reclusive, and fearful of authority. Precaria gave her a venue in which she could act how she wished without too many consequences, and so she developed a persona who had a boundless zeal for life. She loved dreaming up adventures that were equal parts daring and ridiculous and putting herself in the center of them.

Relation to the Creator:

Victory was the god and ruler of Precaria when she was a child. She brought each inhabitant to life and designed the outer lands and inner kingdom.

Notable Powers:

Victory can use the items of power that she has left scattered around Precaria. She can also choose to dismantle them in order to release the raw imaginative power locked inside.

Brief History:

Victory's parents dragged themselves out of poverty with hard work and sacrifice and named their first daughter after their success, expecting her to follow suit. From a young age, Victory learned to deal with her problems by shutting herself inside her own mind. Using her favorite fantasy books as a template, she created a colorful world to serve as her fortress into which she could escape from her parents' high expectations. When she was around ten, her parents realized that she spent quite a bit of time shut up in her room and began to send her on playdates. One of the friends she met was Lily Philomel, a boisterous girl with whom she slowly became best friends. In time, Victory shared the world of Precaria with Lily, who helped develop the fantastical world in ways that Victory would never have thought of. Around fifth grade, Victory developed a crush on a boy in her class and created a Precarian alter-ego for him because she was too shy to say anything to the real boy. She became content with having Eros around instead of his inspiration, so she merely befriended the real-world version.

In middle school, Victory became a target for bullies because she lacked a large network of friends, even though Lily tried her best to defend her. Through the first half of middle school, this pushed her further into her imaginary world, but around the latter half of seventh grade, she became frustrated when Precaria failed to solve her real-world problems. Gradually, she stopped visiting, only returning occasionally when Lily brought it up. She turned her attention to her schoolwork, which improved her standing with her parents but kept her reclusive.

She became more outgoing when she joined the color guard in high school. In parallel, she started to become more aware of her attraction to other girls. She tried to push it aside and even hid it from her friends, assuming it was unnatural, but it continued to bother her throughout high school. During Lily’s decline, she had thoughts of returning to Precaria, but she chastised herself for trying to escape her problems rather than solve them. Her efforts failed, however, and after Lily’s death, Victory first responded with seclusion, then by pouring herself even more into her work. In her junior year, she managed to get a job at the local post office in order to save for college.

After she graduated, she kept her job, deciding to take classes online while she worked. She chose to study radio broadcasting mostly to spite the high expectations of her parents; she once had vague ideas of being one of those talk-show hosts on NPR and decided that it would be an adequate career that strayed from her parents’ idea of success. Lately, though, she’s been losing interest in her classes. Her parents had her move out once she graduated, so she now lives on her own in an apartment. After a long bout of self-doubt, she found a girlfriend, hiding the relationship from her family for about a year. It reached an explosive end, however, just after her parents found out about her girlfriend. In the meantime, she's had to find a second job at a bookstore and sell her plasma to pay all the bills.

So begins...

Victory Ginsburg's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Victory Ginsburg
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Crumpled on her bed like a dropped doll, Victory stared at the dusk creeping over the windowsill. The seam on the sleeve of her post office uniform pushed at her shoulder in just the spot to bother her, but she felt that she did not have permission to move and, in any case, that she deserved any discomfort.

Oh, you deserve such a cruel fate! What a pitiful way to be, having your sleeve dig into your shoulder! Idiot. No wonder everybody hates you.

For the hundredth time, her mother’s words played in her mind: “Get out! You’re not my daughter! Get out!”

She’d just been waiting for an excuse. She’d wanted to say that for years. You were just too stupid to realize how much she hates you.

The fresh memory of Tammy’s voice cut through. “You still chose your homophobic family over me? After all I’ve done for you? Get out! Get out of here!”

You should be alone. You don’t belong anywhere, freak. Go live in the sewers like the scum-sucking rat you are.

A long blast of a car horn pierced the silence, snapping her back into her room. She raised her eyes to the red glow of the clock, breathed a hollow sigh, and shifted to let gravity drag her off the bed and to the sink.

She hoped she wouldn’t look at the mirror, but like a grisly car wreck, her puffed eyes and dripping makeup drew a glance. She cringed.

Fucking pathetic.

She smeared her face clean in cold water, dried it on her shirt, and slunk back to bed, curling up on top of the sheets and hiding her eyes under the pillow. She just wanted to sleep, to get out of her head by sinking further in. “It used to be so easy, didn’t it?” she thought.

To solve your problems by pussying out of them.

“It used to be so easy, and it felt so…”

Something you don’t deserve. Something you never deserved.

“I just told myself to dream, and I did.”

Wasting your time on bullshit. Typical.

“If I just try, no one will know but me.”

Yes, you will, and you’ll still be an idiot.

“I’ll dream of someplace I can hide… a fortress. I’ll dream of a castle. With walls that will keep out everything. And empty halls. And quiet. I just want it quiet—”

“Well, we’re doing our best, believe me.”

Victory flinched and opened her eyes. Her eyes worked well enough in the dim light, but she still took a moment to process the scene in front of her: a long dining table and a trio of servants clearing the used dishes onto a greasy trolley. She felt naked, suddenly thrust in front of gawkers.

“Where’d you come from, anyway?” asked the tall servant.

“Lexie’ll have a whole herd of cows if he catches you in here,” said the servant with the bushy red eyebrows.

“And if he hears you calling him ‘Lexie,’” said the servant with the big mole on her lip.

Victory felt her face heating up. “Um.” She glanced around. “Where—I-I don’t know. I’m sorry, I should…” She turned away to find a quick way out of the place.

“Well, hang on!” said the servant with the bushy eyebrows. “You don’t have to run off.”

“Yeah, you’re a fresh face. That’s pretty weird,” said the one with the mole.

“It’s not a big town, even if we’ve got a castle. Everybody knows everybody,” said the tall one. “Who are you?”

Victory froze. She’d wanted silence, not this.

Can’t even escape from your own pathetic awkwardness in your dreams.

She half-shuffled around to face them, hooking her hand on her shoulder. “Um, Vicky.” She glanced at the floor. She only cared about getting to someplace solitary, but she was in it now. “Y-you?”

The tall one opened her mouth but made no sound. She pursed her lips. “Huh.”

The one with the mole crossed her arms. “Come to think of it…”

The one with the eyebrows squinted at the domed ceiling. “Funny, I have no idea.”

Victory furrowed her brow. “How do you just go around not knowing your own names?”

The one with the mole shrugged. “Well, there’s really only us, the master, and a few others in the castle. We just kinda…”

“Get by?” the tall one suggested.

“That’s about right,” said the one with the eyebrows.

Victory frowned. “Oh. Okay. Well, can’t you... give yourself names?”

The trio looked at one another, then back at Victory.

“This One,” said the tall one.

“That One,” said the one with the eyebrows.

“The Other,” said the one with the mole.

Victory blinked. “I, uh. Guess that works.” She looked up at the cobweb-covered chandelier. The ceiling above it was once covered with beautiful murals, but dust obscured what hadn't chipped off. "But you said this was a castle?

This One nodded. "Yeah. It's pretty empty, though."

That One sighed, crossing his arms. "Ever since Lexie started getting his panties in a bunch about people watching him."

The Other scoffed. "Who'd care what he does, anyway? All he ever does is mope."

"This Lexie guy," said Victory. "Is he the, uh, master?"

"Yup," said The Other.

“Then why’s he moping?” Victory asked.

“He’s sad about a girl,” said This One.

“I just think he’s nuts. Keeps worshipping an empty throne,” said That One.

“Wow,” said Victory. “That’s kind of sad, actually.”

That One scoffed. “Not when he snarls at you for trying to clean the place.”

The Other shook her head. “He keeps saying we’ll ‘disturb the setting.’”

“And then he fires you for spying,” said This One.

Victory raised an eyebrow. “That guy needs help. Like, professional.”

Not as much as you do.

“Anyway,” she said. “Is there a…” She figured that she wouldn’t get any privacy in the castle, and it didn’t feel right to ask for her own room as an intruder. “Is there a way out of here?”

“Oh, sure!” said The Other. She pointed to the big door beyond the far end of the table. “Just go through there.”

“And take the second left, go down the stairs, and up the next,” said That One.

“Then straight, straight, left, right, and another straight. It’s just past the big stained-glass window. You can’t miss it,” said This One.

“Oh… Yeah, sure.” Victory nodded with feigned enthusiasm. She figured she could go through the door and the path might become self-evident in time. In any case, the thought of getting lost in the future was less excruciating than the thought of asking them to repeat the instructions, or worse yet, an escort. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” said That One.

“Glad we could help,” said This One.

“See you around!” said The Other.

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” said Victory, with no intention of doing so, and she pushed through the door to the sound of plates and silverware clanking on the greasy cart.

Half an hour later, she slumped against the wall with her clenched fists on her forehead. “This place is some godforsaken maze,” she groaned. The ubiquitous gray stone didn’t help. The creepy paintings certainly didn’t help. The only thing that seemed to help was the layer of dust on the floor which told her when she was backtracking, but she had the sneaking suspicion that it was somehow keeping her from backtracking to the actual path to the exit.

And you even get lost in your own dream. You’re like some Olympic champion of being a spectacular loser.

“But I need to find my way out,” she thought.

What’s the use? You know you’ll just keep running in circles.

She shifted her feet under her to stand.

Whatever. Knock yourself out; I don’t care.

When she swung out her arms to balance herself, her hand smacked into a plaster pillar that served as a stand for an expensive-looking urn. The pillar and urn wobbled, and she stumbled and snatched at the urn to keep it from falling. Her hasty grab only smacked it to the floor. She winced at the resulting crash. Fear prickled at the nape of her neck. Had anyone heard? She decided to not take her chances, and she sprinted for a narrow hallway.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Victory Ginsburg Character Portrait: Alexis Wynter
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Alexis Wynter

The Prince Charming

A crash somewhere in the halls disturbed his silence.

Idiots! What the hell were they up to now? Servants were far more trouble than they were worth, he could see that now. Tomorrow he would see that they were thoroughly disciplined for making such nuisances of themselves.

He straightened up to his full skeletal height and brushed the patches of dust from his knees.

On second thoughts, why wait until tomorrow? No time like the present, after all. His face set in an irritated frown, he strode quickly out of the throne room in the direction of where the sound had come from; buckled to his hip, his dull sword swung against his thigh with every step. It hadn't been properly used in a while - the rust and tarnishing cake over the hilt made that clear - but he had taken to wearing it even around the castle, just in case of sudden violent treachery.

It didn't take long to see what had caused the crash that disturbed him. There on the floor, lying in shattered fragments rather than on the elegant plaster pedestal it had previously inhabited, was the urn of - of - well, of someone very important, probably. He didn't know who's urn it was and he didn't really care; but what he did know, and care very much about indeed, was that it was very expensive, very broken and very much his property.

He scowled at the empty hallway.

In response, the faint sound of footsteps came to him from the narrow hallway that led off to the left, and with one hand on the hilt of his sword he followed the noise. He knew that the only place they could hide was a storage room at the end of this corridor, which gave him a shred of faint satisfaction.

"You can't hide from me in my own castle!" he shouted into the gloom, drawing himself up as tall and imposing as he could manage. Although he didn't have the same visual impact as a large man might have, there was definitely something unnerving about seeing his gaunt shadowy frame stalking towards you down a dimly lit stone corridor.