Euphemia Isadora Apolline Regana Lavorre III

Seriously, just call her Reese.

0 · 135 views · located in Rhindeval

a character in “Fractured Kingdoms”, as played by CabbageAngel



Reese Winters






Choppy, shaggy hair dyed red. Brown eyes.




Reese is a troublemaker, petty criminal and screw up - sure, an unfortunate combination, but she excels at all three. She's just as good at maneuvering her way out of trouble as she is at getting into it. She's quick to get into a fight or any other life-endangering activity for the fun of it. A total adrenaline junkie, she seeks thrills that push everything else out of mind - she's found this feeling in reckless driving. Her favorite past time is blasting the music high and skidding around the track. Despite all of the stupid things she gets up to and the substances she abuses, she's remarkably intelligent and seems to just be choosing to use these wits for a lackluster purpose.
She's rebelled against every authoritative figure in her life... not knowing that all this time, she's really been fighting against the world because of the instinctual feeling that she's imprisoned there.


Euphemia Isadora Apolline Regana Lavorre the Third didn't suddenly become a rebel after getting her memory erased. She always had a bit of it in her. She came from the Kingdom of Emperia, home to the grandest library in all the lands, famous for many of the greatest breakthroughs in magical studies and technologies, and renowned keepers of Rhindeval's lore and forbidden knowledge. They revered knowledge and wisdom over all things, and it was common for people from other kingdoms to travel to Emperia to seek the advice of the ancient magical creatures the Lavorre family paid tribute to. This all meant a lot of expectations on little Princess Euphemia's head and a lot of studying, starting the moment she babbled out her first word - something that any little girl would protest. She was mischievous, but never rude, and if she continued living the life she had born into her behavior would have smoothed out in time. Alas, it was not her fate.

She was nine when it all happened. Lilith did right by her, making sure she was adopted, but the cloud over Reese's mind made her restless, always trying to escape, even though she didn't know what she was trying to escape from. And so Reese showed the good sorceress her appreciation by messing it all up almost immediately. Back to foster care she went. She spent the rest of her childhood and adolescence this way, getting herself kicked this way and that, from school to school and house to house. She always felt closest to freedom when she was behind the wheel, and after years of odd jobs, saved up to buy the beat up tin can she has now. She's been turning it into a formidable racing car part ever since and is a self-taught mechanic because of it.

Reese now runs a mechanic gig with no qualifications on the side and tears up the track in illegal races at night. After her recent break up, she's started a bridging course at the local college in an attempt to get her life together - which definitely has nothing to do with the break-up, no way, she isn't trying to win her back or anything, all of this student debt isn't in the name of impressing her! Not knowing what to study after the bridging course doesn't prove that this was a choice made on heartbroken impulse at all!


So begins...

Euphemia Isadora Apolline Regana Lavorre III's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Euphemia Isadora Apolline Regana Lavorre III Character Portrait: Ishara Soli Eldiel

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Miles from anything but dry vacant land, an abandoned power station had been transformed into a neon-colored cesspit of vice and adrenaline. The beats of a mediocre DJ tried to compete with the screech of tires and the roar of engines. Glasses smashed, cigarette buds were ground under heels and fresh layers of graffiti and satanic symbols were sprawled over the walls and floors. Nights like these were what left the ghosts that haunted the kids sneaking into these places in the morning.

Amidst the thick of exhaust fumes and burning rubber, a young woman leaned her back against the pop-up bar and watched, dead-eyed, as a man took his shot with a rock at a line-up of beer bottles on the boot of a 1996 SVT Mustang Cobra. The muscle car had seen better days, sure, with its botched yellow paint job and a couple dents here and there (plus one crater), but it had never been insulted like this. She watched the bottle shatter and rock bounce off the back window. The cherubic face of a boy propped on the broad shoulders of a oafish brute turned gleefully back to his friends. The woman silently committed that face to memory, when he headed her way.

He strode up beside her and nudged the other patrons out the way with his girth to make his order. The woman eyed him up and down, scoffing at his designer brand flannel, then lingering at the bulge in his pocket. A city-bred private school kid playing cowboy, great, won't be so hard to crack.

"Hey," she spoke up over the 'music', "Hey!"

The guy turned to her: Reese Winters, gum chewing, dyed red hair a stringy mess and caught in her hoops, in a little sequined slip and wobbling in studded turquoise heels, an oversized white thrift store coat baring her shoulders, knuckles and knees red and scabbed over. The epitome of a hot mess. He swigged his beer, eyes and brow lifting with interest. She grinned and leaned towards him. "Are you packing under that?"

The man leaned on his side against the bar, blocking her off from seeing anything else. He let out a flattered laugh. "Why are you asking?"

She shrugged. "Just bored of watching you throw rocks like some kid. If you want to impress somebody worth it, why don't you use a man's tool, cowboy?"

He laughed again, this time slipping out the hilt of a handgun from his jean's pocket. "Maybe I will, for you." He announced, puffing out his chest, his intoxicated face flushing a deeper shade of crimson. The gleam in her eyes turned deadly.

"You're not worried about hitting the car or nothing?"

"That thing? Babe, that old piece of junk is due for the scrap heap anyway. Don't worry about it."

The fake smile had left her face. He was already eyeing the rest of the party, mouthing to his friends who were making gestures of encouragement.

"That's my car."


Her hand shot out and twisted his lapels. "That's my car, dipshit."

His wide blue eyes blinked at her in confusion, when he smirked. "Aha, right. Right, should've known it. You're pretty trash yourself."

"Say whatever you want about me, that is '96 Cobra and we tear up the track together just as good as anything. You want to talk trash? I saw the Commodore you stepped out of. That's every white trash teenage boy's starter. I noticed yours is the newest model, right? And you've got it all nice and polished like some trophy. From that shiny car to the threads gripped in my damn fingers, you're just some rich shit dipping his toes into our lifestyle and I'm sorry, babe, you don't get to look down on me when I'm who you're pretending to be." She stopped and sniffed the air. "How much have you had? I'll match you."

He swiped her hand off him, eyes bulging with rage. "The hell are you doing that for?!"

"Because I'm going to race you, cowboy." She said, right before knocking down a shot and smirking. "And I don't want you to be at a disadvantage."

Reese threw her heels over her shoulder on the backseat, her bare toes scrunching against the peddles. Her mouth buzzed with the five shots she had just downed. She looked over at her opponent in his new white Commodore. He hooted out the window at her.

"Hey, trash! You really think your old husk can match -"

Reese revved her engine, loud, and started her music. Match his 2.0-litre turbo four cylinder engine in horsepower? She didn't care about that, that wasn't the point. This wasn't about who could push their foot on the accelerator the best, nor about how fast their cash could make them. This was about who could drive. The track they on was too dangerous to attempt if you couldn't. Her fingers drummed against the wheel impatiently in time with the bass line.

Go. Go. Go. GO!

Her wheels shrieked. Her engine roared a battle cry. Her mind went blank with adrenaline and every part of her became just another part of the car's machinery. Her opponent up ahead didn't even matter. She knew he'd have this stretch. It was where the crumbled walls of the power station whipped past her and they entered the condemned building that the stage was hers.

Her Cobra swerved between the cement pillars with reckless abandon. She spared her opponent a little look in her mirror to see him approaching the pillars far more cautiously, leaving him behind. The wheel spun freely under Reese's fingertips, then she grabbed it and jerked, speeding her way through the rest of the power station's first floor. She let a "Whooo!!" out her window as she shot from the building to the crowd that clapped behind their 'safety net' of barbed wire. She hadn't lost him, though. Smiling devilishly, she swerved her Cobra to face him, taunting him by taking the rest of the stretch in reverse and blocking his attempts to overtake her. A quick glance in the rear view mirror reminded her of the sharp turn up ahead and she didn't bother turning her car the right way. She drifted across the turn and used it to correct her course with an adrenaline-fueled shout, pumping her fist out of the open window. Oh, she could just taste the frustration of the guy in her dust from up here.

As she settled comfortably in what was a sure-fire first place, her mobile began to ring. She tried ignoring it, but its insistence prodded her into giving the phone a glance -



Reese jolted forward. She looked at her rear view mirror in a panic - the cowboy wannabe had caught up with her, but he hadn't used this as a chance to overtake her, oh no, he was out for revenge. Not only was he tail-gating her, but


"Son of a bitch!" Reese spat and slammed the accelerator. The bastard was ramming into her tail with that overcompensating bull bar of his! She tried to outpace him, no more than a mouse trying to escape being crushed by the big cat, now. "Ha... alright, he's trying to out-crazy me," she muttered to herself, then blasted her music high and brazenly declared, "NEVER try to out-crazy ME!"

She skidded, turning around and leaving him in the dust as she sped down the track... the wrong way. She twisted back a fair distance, catching him turning back to follow her, and flashed her high beams - right before speeding dead-straight at him.

He hesitated only a second to join her game of chicken, but it was a second she registered. Reese glared at him, unflinching. Yes, he'd crush her - but he wouldn't be able to do it without landing a scratch on his precious baby. So go ahead, crush her. Prove her perception of him wrong.



They swerved at the very last moment. Reese, calmly and expertly. The cowboy - panicked and out of control. She heard the crash before she'd turned her car around. Satisfaction filled her at the sight of the Commodore's hood, crumpled in by a metal fence post. Reese rolled her car up right beside the wreck, fetched the stale gum from her mouth and reached out to squish it with her finger onto the Commodore's window. With nothing else to say, she drove away.

A message came up on her phone as she drove out of the track.

Dad's been called out to the power station. If you're there, get out. This is the last time I warn you. Don't reply to this message.

"Don't worry, Vera..." Reese sighed, pulling out onto the empty highway. "... There's nothing there for me anyway."


The next morning, Reese was outside of her local fast food joint in torn shorts and another oversized coat, knocking her hungover head against the door.

"Freddieeee," she groaned. She squished her palms and nose against the glass. Yesterday's mascara darkened her eyes which only made the bags under them look worse. "Freddie!! C'mon, it's only a few minutes to... open up... Class is in an hour and I'm gonna retch..."


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Euphemia Isadora Apolline Regana Lavorre III Character Portrait: Ishara Soli Eldiel

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The morning breeze blew over Reese and tossed her bangs over her face. The parking lot was nearly empty, save for a delivery bike chained onto a yellow pole. Cooing came from overhead, followed by the flutter of wings. A flock of pigeons, chuckling at her sorry state.

A shape stirred in the dark. Lean, with what looked like giant drill bits wobbling from its peak.The silhouette approached Reese, coming closer and closer into the light to reveal her icy blue gaze; vibrant as the ocean but marred by fatigue.

"Reese?" She asked, with a voice barely above a whisper. Fredericka Reyes. Or ‘Freddie’, as Reese knew her, decked up in her uniform, white with an orange, plaid trim. She pulled the door open. "You look like shit," Freddie stated, quite plainly. "Come in, I was making coffee but…" she looked Reese up and down. "I think you need… protein."

A pale, slender hand reached into a bucket, disappearing in a sea of golden-brown drumsticks. She brought one to her face, steam emanating from the layer of freshly deep-fried crust.


The crust cracked with a single, gentle bite. The golden layer gave way to a white tenderness which practically melted in Freddie's mouth. She leaned her head back and reveled in her own personal salty, savoury heaven.

"McCool's Fried Chicken…," Freddie cooed as she tilted forward, contemplating the feast before her. "...Best hangover cure in fifty states…" Her visible blue eye looked from the fried chicken, to Reese, to the accoutrements around them - a side of salad, two serves of mashed potatoes, and a big, bright tub of mac and cheese, slick with grease and oozing with sinful, processed cheese.

Freddie brought a fork to the salad and dug the prongs into the pile of green and red. "You were out… on the tracks again?... During school night?"

A pause.

Freddie brought the fork up, towards her open mouth.


Munch, munch.

"You goffa...cut thaff down, girl," Freddie managed between her chewing, then gulped. "The dean's already got it out for you…" Freddie shook her fork, maintaining her nearly flat tone. "Don't need to encourage him..."

Reese hunched over the feast, tearing through drumstick after drumstick after wing after drumstick. She slurped up a heaped spoonful of the toxic yellow mush passing for mac and cheese and chewed, with attitude, if there could be such a thing.

“Gwaagh…” she groaned between chugs of soda, then collapsed back in her seat and gave Freddie a dismissive wave. “Aw, come off it, Freddie!” She whined, “I breezed through the referencing assessment. Can’t I cut myself a break, here?” She looked up from picking her teeth with a chicken bone, brow twitching. “Like you’re in a place to give me a lecture, anyway. Those eyes red from staying up all night on your research paper, or?”

"Hey…," Freddie began as she reached for another drumstick. "I was cramming for tonight's exam… and needed... inspiration." Fredericka turned her glance away and lowered her voice. "Admittedly, there was more inspiration and less… cramming."

The two emptied the bucket of chicken in short order, strewing bones all over the bottom. Freddie looked upon the pile, her brows pointed upwards in mild awe. Not even cartilage remained, only bones.

"Man...We were really hungry."

Freddie stood and rubbed her hands together to scatter the crumbs. "You better get going. I gotta clean this mess up before the manager gets here." She turned to walk away, but looked over her shoulder one last time. "You still good… for Redflix and Blaze… on Thursday?"

Reese scratched her head with greasy chicken fingers, looking elsewhere uncomfortably. "Aah… I don't know, Freddie. Doing that kind of thing - it hasn't been a good trip for me lately, y'know?"

Freddie's eyes narrowed. Her lips scrunched up into a frown. "It's that druid… isn't it?"

"Wiccan." Reese interrupted, then backpedaled. "I mean, I never even said she was the problem!"

Freddie folded her arms and sighed. She fetched the empty cups and tossed them into the bucket, then hoisted the whole thing and strutted towards the kitchen. "You just can't get her out of your mind…"

As running water hissed behind her, Reese noticed Freddie's satchel, laying on the ground, with a thread of silver coiled upon the open flap. A violet twinkle came from within, stirring a peculiar feeling inside her. She placed a hand over her back pocket, which her own pendant was tangled up in, identical to Freddie's but for the stone, a golden topaz. These pendants that held the secrets of their pasts… they were the only thing that someone as abrasive as Reese and as chill as Freddie had in common. Well, that and being total disappointments.

“Yeah… yeah, right, I need to run.” Reese called out to Freddie, “I owe you for this, Fred, seriously. I’ll take a look at the clutch on your scooter this week after I fix up my client’s suspension. Promise!”

The door slammed shut, swiftly followed by the growl of an engine and the shriek of wheels. Freddie gave the empty establishment a belated thumbs up.