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Rosalie Purnell

"I can't explain myself, because you see I'm not myself."

0 · 473 views · located in Eagle's Ravine, Oregon

a character in “Kingdom of the Brier”, as played by Moonstruck

Groups

Enslaved humans turned magical.

Description

โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘

โ•”
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Misnomer: Rosalie Purnell

Moniker: Rosie

Age: 17

Species: Changeling

Sexuality: Heterosexual

The Dead Waltz - Radical Face

โ•šโ•
โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘

โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
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โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
"Why, sometimes I've believed
as many as six impossible things
before breakfast."
โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
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โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€

Personality


Rosie although she is seemingly normal on the outside and outwardly beautiful, once someone begins to talk to her it doesn't take long for them to garner that something is just something a little... off about her. There is a feeling of absence when talking face to face with her and she gives off an aura of otherworldliness. Perhaps itโ€™s the way her voice sounds like she is speaking from the bottom of a deep well or how her eyes seem to follow the phantoms in the room rather than people. She seems detached from reality and spacey but in actuality this is because she is so finely attuned to her environment that there are just too many stimuli competing for her attention at once. Never mind if some of those things are real or notโ€ฆ

It would seem Rosie would be completely naรฏve given her ditzy personality, but she is actually very insightful into people. She has the natural ability to see into the soul of another person and is acutely aware of emotions.
โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘


Skills
Drawing || Keyboard || Swimming (can hold her breath under water for about 2 minutes) || Sensing emotion || Manipulation of nature such as plants and animals

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Likes
Nature|| Walking outside || Swimming || Sketching || Music || Spring and Summer || Sunsets and Night time

Dislikes
Being inside || Regimented schedules || Being treated like an invalid || Textbooks || Cooking || Sports || Rules

Weaknesses
Clumsy || Lack of practical skills || Cannot drive || Gullibility || Hallucinates the longer she doesn't 'feed' off of anyone

Fears
Becoming insane || Being thrown in a psych ward || Losing her sister or her uncle || Enclosed and tight spaces

โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘

โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
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โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
"How long is forever?"
โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
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โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
"Sometimes only a second."
โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€
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โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€โ”€

History

Hi, Iโ€™m Rosalie Purnell, most people in my town call me Rosie. I was transposed from Connecticut to Eagleโ€™s Ravine, Oregon when I was just a baby so here is home. I live with my Uncle Ben and my big sister Clarissa or โ€œClaireโ€, but I like to call her Clarissa because I think her full name is so pretty. Anyways, Clarissa and I have been living with my Uncle Ben since I was six when my mom got locked away in the loonie bin then magically disappeared. Uncle Ben's the town mayor so we got to keep some semblance of normalcy although I've been told I'm really bad at it so I just let my freak flag fly with pride. I guess my problem is I don't really know what normal looks like except in a dishwasher because it clearly has a normal setting on it. I know it frustrates Ben that I don't even try, but you know, how does he know that not everyone else is just faking being dishwashers?

OH, howโ€™d my mother end up in the psychiatric facility? I guess she did a few crazy things.. Namely she tried to kill herself and me by leaving the gas stove on in our house one time. Clarissa remembers that day better than I do because I was unconscious for most of it. She saved me. Thatโ€™s all I remember, she took me outside and carried me over to the neighbors. I think it was raining that day, and then there were pretty blue and red lights. Mom was screaming, โ€œTurn off those lights! Go away! Theyโ€™ll find me!โ€ She always talked enigmatically about โ€˜theyโ€™.

After I was released from the hospital Clarissa and I went to stay with Uncle Ben. He said my mom had went to the hospital where they fix minds and sheโ€™d be there for a little while and then sheโ€™d be back home soon. But she never came home. They lost her. Or maybe more profoundly she lost herself. I donโ€™t know, but one day she was gone. The nurse came to check on her in her locked room and she was gone. Lots of rumors circled where she went to or what had been done to her. Maybe my uncle got sick of taking care of her, making sure all her bills were paid, that her kids were fed, talking her down every time she was having an episode and decided to have her 'disappeared' to make his life easier. I know for a fact though Ben loved my mother. He is also a man of very little design. The police cleared him quickly.

Then so many people came out of the woodwork with their different versions of โ€˜theyโ€™ to explain my mother's disappearance. UFO hunters claimed it was โ€˜theyโ€™, the aliens. Ghost hunters claimed it was โ€˜theyโ€™, the phantoms. Conspiracy theorists claimed โ€˜theyโ€™, the illuminati. But the final conclusion was very un-magical, un-sci-fiey, and unsatisfying. 'They' (the detectives) said she must have stolen keys off of a nurse or had hidden something like a bobby pin to spring herself free. They dredged the river to see if she might have drowned herself when she got out but they found nothing. I still like to think some version of โ€˜theyโ€™ took her. Mainly because I donโ€™t want to believe she just left us.

Funny thing is life went on. Eternity was in the hardest moments, but even eternity ended when finally school started back up again and we were both forced to move along. Ben became our guardian and we never went back to our old house again. Clarissa continued to care for me like she always has. There really wasn't a whole lot of difference in my life. Clarissa still brushed my hair, made the meals, did the laundry all of that mundane stuff I'm so terrible at.. It's just now I deal with other things on my own. The walking chairs in my periphery, the birds that say hello to me as I pass, the branches that make shadow puppets in my window at night. I used to be able to talk to mom about all of this, but I know better than to share these things with anyone else. And it's not like it's all scary to me, I'm used to it, it makes life interesting and magical. The thing that really scares me is when I won't be able to tell the difference between the mundane and the magical. That's when I'm afraid they'll come take me away like mom.
โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘โ–‘

Face Claim: Lily Collins

So begins...

Rosalie Purnell's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ben Brynley Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell Character Portrait: Claire Purnell
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#, as written by Moonstruck
cxcI left my life behind...
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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...Ben Brynley...
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“

Free and Lonely
โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›

Ben jerked awake, slightly alarmed by the sound of his own deep snoring and to find himself, again, not in his bed. He pulled his chin up against his chest and covered his eyes with his forearm resisting the morning sunlight coming through the living room blinds. He was in his clothes from yesterday, his shoes by the couch where he had kicked them off and fallen asleep. Crusty drool clung to the side of his face and he wiped the gunk from the sides of his open mouth. Heโ€™d had a late night out with some of his old associates at the lumber yard and had slugged a few too many back it seemed from the dull ache in his head. To some degree he hadn't wanted to go, making this hangover seem like an even more vicious payback, but since the logger union was one of his biggest supporters it was hard to say no. He hadnโ€™t spent an evening at home for almost a whole week due to work or some other social obligation and he felt guilty leaving the girls home alone so many nights in a row. They were older now though, he reasoned to himself, they didnโ€™t need him as much they used to and would understand he was a busy guy. On the other hand, the voters always needed constant reassurance that he was still the same old, humble Ben Brynley from the down the block, still looking out for them.

He laboriously sat up and cradled his aching head in his hands for a moment with a pitiful moan. Then the smell of something burnt and sweet caught his nostrils and he was all at once alert. He noticed the kitchen light on from where he sat and he dragged his feet over to the entrance where he saw a single pan alone on the stove with black smoke rising out of it. He ran over and switched off the burner, picking the pan up off the stove which had what looked like burnt oatmeal sticking to the bottom. Before the adrenaline could completely drain from him and he could start to solve the mystery of how the pan got there, the silence in the house was broken by the blaring sound of the fire alarm.

He took a dishtowel and waved it at the disk on the ceiling, every beep pounding like a hammer on the inside of his skull. When it finally silenced and he looked down from the ceiling, he noticed his niece Rosie standing in the kitchen doorway, glassy eyes looking bewildered like an alien having just beamed down into a strange and foreign place she didn't understand (which he sometimes honestly wondered if that wasn't the case she was an alien. There weren't any pictures of her as a baby in the hospital to prove her human origins.) She was wearing a rain jacket and duck rain boots with a mismatching feminine batton-lace dress, her long dark hair looking wind swept and frizzy like she had been outside. He didnโ€™t have to wonder at all then who was the culprit behind the burnt oatmeal. โ€œRosie, where were you?โ€ he demanded of her, throwing the dishtowel onto the counter and clambering the pan into one side of the double sink. โ€œI just went outside for a moment.โ€ She replied as if such an explanation was completely reasonable. Her reply didn't really surprise Ben at all, but it didn't make him any less frustrated either. โ€œYou never leave the stove unattended when youโ€™re cooking something, Rosie. NEVER.โ€ He scolded her much like someone would a toddler rather than the 17 year old she was. โ€œWhat the hell were you doing outside anyway?โ€ He then asked exasperatedly, straining to keep his composure with his head bursting. Rosie pointed a finger, directing his line of sight towards the kitchen window. โ€œI noticed the bird feeder was empty so I went out to fill it.โ€

Outside the kitchen window the top of the yellow ladder from his workshop peeked out, and the long bird feeder was amply full and overflowing with seeds. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. It was hard to be mad at someone like Rosie even when she messed up on basic tasks because of her good intentions. But even though her explanation diffused his anger, it now brought up the worry as they neared her eighteenth birthday how unprepared she seemed for the real world. He now thought they had done her a disservice by sheltering and doing so much for her, especially her sister Claire who was by far the most protective sibling he'd ever known and behaved like a mother hen to her baby sister.

โ€œIโ€™m sorry Uncle Ben.โ€ She apologized, doe eyes looking sympathetically at him. โ€œI didnโ€™t mean to make your hangover worse.โ€ Now this almost knocked Ben over with the sheer unexpectedness of her being able to identify what a hang over was. Sometimes, it seemed, she wasn't as imperceptive or naive as he thought. โ€œWhat? No, Rosie.. Iโ€™m not hung over.โ€ he grumbled, feeling rotten shame curl in his stomach. Okay, so sometimes he was just as much to blame in trying to shelter her as her sister, he just did a much shittier job at it. โ€œOh.โ€ Rosie pursed her lips now looking guilty for having pointed it out. Ben looked towards the clock and changed subjects quickly. โ€œYou've got less than an hour before school. Go change your shoes, you got dirt on them.โ€ He waved a hand to dismiss her and then turned his attention once she was gone to the task of getting the burnt oatmeal stuck from the bottom of the pan.

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
But I ain't got time look back on when I was free...cxc

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ben Brynley Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell Character Portrait: Claire Purnell
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#, as written by Caged Bird
cxcx๏ผด๏ฝ ๏ฝ‚๏ฝ… ๏ฝ•๏ฝŽ๏ฝ‚๏ฝ’๏ฝ๏ฝ‹๏ฝ…๏ฝŽ, ๏ฝ—๏ฝˆ๏ฝ๏ฝ” ๏ฝ—๏ฝ๏ฝ•๏ฝŒ๏ฝ„ ๏ฝ”๏ฝˆ๏ฝ๏ฝ” ๏ฝ‚๏ฝ…?
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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โ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏแ‘•แ’ชแ—ฉแ“ฐแ–‡แ™“ แ‘ญแ˜ฎแ–‡๏ฌกแ™“แ’ชแ’ชโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏ
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
      Claire Purnell examined her reflection in the mirror with distaste, she was not as fair as her younger sister but she could not be made to harbor jealousy, envy, or even contempt over the matter; the face staring back of her evoked only a feeling of irritation with herself. She sighed before carefully applying a dewy shade of lipstick to her lips, an action which was a rare occurrence in and of itself, so much so that the tube still had the clearance sticker clinging to the side rather stubbornly from where she had only just purchased it the day prior. She should have taken the time to enjoy dolling up for the first time in months, but the event felt too alien to revel in.

      One might ask what the occasion was, that she might go through such an effort; a boy perhaps? But like most things involving Claire, this was purely practical in nature; no romantic asides for her. The manager at Bag n' Go had been reviewing employee files all week, and he was set to promote someone today to assistant manager. Claire, having worked there longer than anyone else-apart from said manager-was the logical choice. She was a studious, hard working employee who had pulled more than her own weight working there since she was fifteen. He just had to pick her...She gave her image one
      more longing look before she pulled herself away from the mirror, not
      satisfied exactly, but convinced this was as good as it was going to get.

      โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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      โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”

      Claire could hear Ben stirring as she descended the stairs but she hovered on the last step as it creaked beneath her weight, giving herself one more moment to steel herself before she officially begun the day. Her fingers brushed the wall between her and her next of kin now in the kitchen, the barrier acting as a shield from responsibility. This house, these walls, had become as much a part of her family as Ben was. If one's home could speak, it'd utter nothing but demonstrative words of comfort and concern to the orphan pair she imagined. "Rosalie, my princess." It'd say in a familiar voice. "you've been looking so pale of late, waltzing with the ghost of your mother through all my empty rooms. How many nights has the moon drunk itโ€™s fill of your beauty and left the sun to mourn, I wonder?" Or perhaps, "Claire, my darling, your eyes have been attending more to books than bed rest as of late. I can hear your haunted footsteps wearing furrows in my floorboards. How many sleepless nights have we seen since your mother left you with us?" Suddenly a voice from the next room, Ben's, resounded crankily; his complaint coupled by the smell of scorched oats. "Girls, paper my walls with all your whispered burdens and silently shed tears, and see how well I keep them, until my columns rot to pulp and moss has grown over the names on your graves. After all, what is family for?" This house would say, or so she liked to pretend, but perhaps it was best to leave such daydreams to her fantasist of a sibling. Brick and mortar could never replace a missing maternal presence.

      She finally put foot to floor and turned into the kitchen without a spoken word. She spared Rosalie's muddy shoes a weary glance before she took the blackened pan from Ben's hands and carried it over to the sink bin to fill it with soap and hot water. Claire had experience with this, she had cleaned off more than her fair share of charred dinners from the insides of pots and pans because it wasn't exactly aberrant for Rosalie to forget that she had a dish that needed attending to, plus, Claire herself was not born a master chef nor was she ever taught to cook but had to instead learn from trial and error, out of necessity. This was her fault, had she not been to busy putting on her face, she would have been down here cooking Rose's breakfast as usual. "I've got it Uncle Ben. It didn't sit for too long, shouldn't be that difficult to clean. No, I dare say the pan isn't totally ruined this go around...Thanks for keeping the house from burning down, though."
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
๏ผฉ๏ฝ† ๏ฝ™๏ฝ๏ฝ•๏ฝ’ ๏ฝ๏ฝƒ๏ฝ”๏ฝ‰๏ฝ๏ฝŽ๏ฝ“, ๏ฝˆ๏ฝ๏ฝ„ ๏ฝŽ๏ฝ๏ฝ” ๏ฝ“๏ฝˆ๏ฝ๏ฝ”๏ฝ”๏ฝ…๏ฝ’๏ฝ…๏ฝ„ ๏ฝ๏ฝ….cxcxcx

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ben Brynley Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell Character Portrait: Claire Purnell
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#, as written by Moonstruck
cxcToday, you are You, that is truer than true.
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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...Rosalie Purnell...
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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From Eden
โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›


"Yeah, 'course I can. I'll pick her up." Ben said agreeably, although he honestly felt his stomach turn a little. This meant he would have to bring Rose to a lecture he was doing at the community college later and Rose was just unpredictable enough this made him a little nervous. But he wasn't going to say no knowing how much this promotion meant to Claire.

Rose came waltzing back downstairs moments later having changed her shoes and gathered up her school stuff. "I'm ready to go~" she said in a sing-songy voice as she passed the kitchen doorway. She knew better than to take off on her own and stood at the door waiting for her sister. It seemed ridiculous to have to be walked to and from school at this age, but even she had to admit it was probably a good idea. Especially on days like these. She had woken up with the walls breathing around her, warping in and out, and she knew it would be a day the whole world would be in motion and she'd be more than a little distracted. Already the birds had gotten her in trouble. Outside the kitchen window this morning they had been chirping insistently at her, giving her a real guilt trip: "Rosalie, won't you come out and feed us? It's cold and we have nothing to eat!" She knew they wouldn't stop pestering her until she filled the dang bird feeder which is why she had abandoned the oatmeal and gone out. The funny part was she didn't necessarily have to lie to her uncle about what had happened, she just never told the entire story. This is how she lived her life, in half-truths, so she was thought only half-crazy.

Her Uncle Ben followed Claire and her out the door. "I'll be picking you up after school Rosie so wait out front, okay? No chasing butterflies or anything where I can't find you." he searched in her eyes for some acknowledgment of his directions and she nodded wistfully. "And good luck today Claire Bear." Then her and her sister left. She looped a delicate arm through the stabilizing crook in her sister's, auto-piloting all the way to school. She couldn't remember the conversation they had if they had one at all. She spent most of the school day like this in her own head, like she did many days, not speaking to anyone. It seemed someone as attractive as Rosalie, with a willowy frame, fair skin, and sparkling eyes beset below dark eyebrows might have received more attention, but she was generally treated like a porcelain doll on the top of shelf -- a creepy one that people turned around so they wouldn't look at them. Her classmates dodged eye contact, returned her smile with shallow ones, and whispered in each other's ears when they thought she wasn't looking.

It seemed she was oblivious to all this but mostly she just didn't let the actions of others affect her, learning a long time ago it was futile to try to change herself. She didn't mind people thinking she was strange as long as they didn't lock her away. So the day passed, nothing out of the ordinary happening, besides her extraordinary visions. The legs on an empty desk went gummy and walked and the shadows moved regardless of which way the light directed it. Constantly little things like these moved, just in her periphery but any time she turned to look they would be still so she could never swore by what she saw. By the end of the day she felt a bit dizzy having whipped her head around so many times to see.

When the school bell rang letting school out she was quite grateful, done entirely with sitting still or even trying to hold her attention for a second more on dry school material. As soon as she stepped outside she heard the grass calling her name and without a second thought as to how it might appear she found a nice patch of grass on the front lawn of the school and flopped down with her backpack beside her. Her classmates not finding this the least bit out of the ordinary for her, rolled their eyes, laughed, or simply stepped around her as they went to their buses. She closed her eyes blocking it all out, the world around her finally slowing down, and felt the touch of the grass holding her down to earth where she needed to be.

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
There is no one alive who is Youer than You.cxc

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell Character Portrait: Milo McClane
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#, as written by Caged Bird
cxc๏ผฉ'๏ฝ–๏ฝ… ๏ฝ๏ฝŒ๏ฝ—๏ฝ๏ฝ™๏ฝ“ ๏ฝŒ๏ฝ‰๏ฝ–๏ฝ…๏ฝ„ ๏ฝŒ๏ฝ‰๏ฝ‹๏ฝ… ๏ฝ”๏ฝˆ๏ฝ‰๏ฝ“, ๏ผซ๏ฝ…๏ฝ…๏ฝ๏ฝ‰๏ฝŽ๏ฝ‡ ๏ฝ ๏ฝƒ๏ฝ๏ฝ๏ฝ†๏ฝ๏ฝ’๏ฝ”๏ฝ๏ฝ‚๏ฝŒ๏ฝ… ๏ฝ„๏ฝ‰๏ฝ“๏ฝ”๏ฝ๏ฝŽ๏ฝƒ๏ฝ…...
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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โ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏแ—ฐแ“ฐแ’ชแ— แ™ขcแ‘•แ’ชแ—ฉ๏ฌกแ—ดโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏ
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
โ‹ฏ๏ผด๏ผจ๏ผฅ ๏ผฏ๏ผฎ๏ผฌ๏ผน ๏ผฅ๏ผธ๏ผฃ๏ผฅ๏ผฐ๏ผด๏ผฉ๏ผฏ๏ผฎโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏ
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
      School was much of the same tedium as always. The recalcitrant Milo was a discord in McLaughlin High: he was like nobody there; he had nothing in harmony with his teachers or fellow students. If they did not like him, in fact, as little did he like them. They were not bound to regard with affection a thing that could not sympathize with one amongst them; a heterogeneous thing, opposed to them in temperament, in capacity, in propensities; a useless thing, incapable of serving their interest, or adding to their pleasure. Milo knew that had he been sanguine, brilliant, and handsome - though equally friendless - the teachers would have endured his presence more complacently; his classmates would have entertained for him more of the cordiality of fellow-feeling. But the truth was he was grateful that he was not so because he did not wish for an easier way of things. Something in him made him want to rake his soul across the hot coals, he delighted in the torturous and painful.

      When the bell rung and Milo exited the building, however, the tedious monotony was shattered. Out on the front lawn, sprawled out on the wet grass, heedless to onlookers; laid a girl. She almost seemed unearthly there in her worship of the ground. He thought it odd to say the least, to stop and rest there, but it was odd in the captivating sort of way...Captivating like the windows of the church he had thrown rocks through. If the glass had remained unbroken, it would never catch attention. When he was done with them, they screamed to be looked at. They were beautiful. Maybe the same went for people: taking the hits from life may leave one broken, but then they're no longer transparent. People see them, and they care. They have a story, and surviving what they have been through makes them beautiful. He could tell she had to have a story worth hearing, she was odd and broken and beautiful lying there...

      So, Milo strolled up as casually as one could and cocked his head to the side, standing in her light. "What'cha doing down there?" He asked as one might an old acquaintance with which they were more or less familiar even though they had never met.
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
๏ฝ•๏ฝ ๏ฝ•๏ฝŽ๏ฝ”๏ฝ‰๏ฝŒ ๏ฝŽ๏ฝ๏ฝ— ๏ผฉ ๏ฝˆ๏ฝ๏ฝ„ ๏ฝ“๏ฝ—๏ฝ๏ฝ’๏ฝŽ ๏ฝ”๏ฝ ๏ฝ๏ฝ™๏ฝ“๏ฝ…๏ฝŒ๏ฝ† ๏ฝ”๏ฝˆ๏ฝ๏ฝ” ๏ผฉ'๏ฝ ๏ฝƒ๏ฝ๏ฝŽ๏ฝ”๏ฝ…๏ฝŽ๏ฝ” ๏ฝ—๏ฝ‰๏ฝ”๏ฝˆ ๏ฝŒ๏ฝ๏ฝŽ๏ฝ…๏ฝŒ๏ฝ‰๏ฝŽ๏ฝ…๏ฝ“๏ฝ“.cxc

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Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell Character Portrait: Milo McClane
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#, as written by Moonstruck
cxcHoney you're familiar like my mirror years ago.
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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...Rosalie Purnell...
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›

So there she was listening to the susurrations of the wind when to the titillation of the grass a presence approached and the lawn hushed in anticipation of an undoubtedly interesting encounter. The quietness of her pantheistic cult raised her consciousness back to the surface, her ears perking and nostrils slightly flaring in awareness of a great shift coming as animals were aware of an earthquake before it happened.

"What'cha doing down there?"

Rosalieโ€™s wondrous eyes opened to focus on the vision of a boy; Greasy haired, unkempt, smelling like her uncle kind of had this morning, and pock marked and cratered like a comet crash landing into her world, creating brilliant sparks as he broke through her atmospheric daze. Or was he real? He was real she decided. Through the strange undulation of the world the atmosphere swirling like it would in a Van Gogh painting he stood as a beacon of clarity. Real like her Uncle Ben, real like her sister, so utterly earthed like the anchor tattooed on his arm where her mind came and went like the shifting tides of the ocean. She wanted to reach out and grab hold over the anchor on his arm and say, please don't go, don't let me be dragged away by the tide.

Instead she tested the metaphorical waters in a more subtle, less desperate way. How deep are you willing to wade in my depths? She was aware of the curiosity sheโ€™d become. Every once in a blue moon someone would become intrigued by her strange beauty and be drawn in closer (though she didnโ€™t understand what actually drew people to her being unaware of what her physical appearance did to people) but every time that seemed to happen rather than appreciating who she was, her rarity, they would try to debase her to normality, because to them it seemed a shame that such beauty was wasted on an invalid. Their interest would wane quickly when they realized she made no effort in changing her ways. Or perhaps could not.

She blinked a few times at him and closed her eyes again. If he were there when she opened them it would be a delightful surprise but she resolved inside herself that it would be no loss if he were to flit away like one of her visions despite what the Earth was telling her โ€“ there is change afoot, darling. Don't let it get away.

โ€œDifferentiating between those who assume what Iโ€™m doing and those who care to actually know.โ€ She finally answered him, resisting the urge to open her eyes and see his reaction.

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
Idealism sits in prison. Chivalry fell on its sword.cxc

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell Character Portrait: Milo McClane
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#, as written by Caged Bird
cxc๏ผท๏ฝˆ๏ฝ ๏ฝ—๏ฝ‰๏ฝŒ๏ฝŒ ๏ฝ†๏ฝ‰๏ฝ˜ ๏ฝ๏ฝ… ๏ฝŽ๏ฝ๏ฝ—? ๏ผค๏ฝ‰๏ฝ–๏ฝ… ๏ฝ‰๏ฝŽ ๏ฝ—๏ฝˆ๏ฝ…๏ฝŽ ๏ผฉ'๏ฝ ๏ฝ„๏ฝ๏ฝ—๏ฝŽ?
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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โ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏแ—ฐแ“ฐแ’ชแ— แ™ขcแ‘•แ’ชแ—ฉ๏ฌกแ—ดโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏ
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
โ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏ๏ผค๏ผฒ๏ผฏ๏ผท๏ผฎโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏ
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
      "Well then," Milo started with a crooked smirk hanging from his wind reddened cheeks. "To avoid predictability, because I really do hate to be limited to only two options, I'll instead ask if I might join you...?" He left the sentence hanging in mid air as he steeled himself to be rebuffed, but suddenly, with a dazzling and somewhat surprised smile, the girl nodded in a timid fashion and resumed her horizontal state.

      He happily flopped down beside her with next to no grace, and cradled his head in his hands as his legs crossed at the ankle. He could feel the sharp stares of his peers around him like knife points held to his back, and silently reveled in the attention though it soon became rather hard to focus on anything but the person beside him. She was beautiful, but it was probably creepy and impolite to gawk. He needed to occupy himself...Still unsure just what they were doing, he swiftly did his best to feign an understanding.

      Inhale, look up at the sky, think majestic thoughts..

      Above, they carried with them halos of vultures, as if the birds were specifically circling the pair-just waiting for them to fall to ruin. Milo couldn't stop smiling, if that was the case, the vultures would starve for their lapse in judgment. He already had one foot in the door. He closed his eyes, mirroring his companion, and wished he was more struck by the relationship between humans, nature, and the inner soul. After all, didn't people say things like a solitary walk through a forest was more than just a casual stroll, wasn't stuff like lying in the grass supposed to become some sort of an introspective pilgrimage to foster spiritual renewal and personal well being or some shit? Blah blah blah. He was totally screwing the pooch with this whole contemplative, basking in the verdure crap. He cracked open an eye and slid a side long glance at his meditative beauty.

      "What's your name, anyways? I don't think we've met before, I'd definitely remember if we had."
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
๏ผณ๏ฝ๏ฝ–๏ฝ… ๏ฝ๏ฝ… ๏ฝ†๏ฝ’๏ฝ๏ฝ ๏ฝ๏ฝ™๏ฝ“๏ฝ…๏ฝŒ๏ฝ†, ๏ฝ„๏ฝ๏ฝŽ'๏ฝ” ๏ฝŒ๏ฝ…๏ฝ” ๏ฝ๏ฝ… ๏ฝ„๏ฝ’๏ฝ๏ฝ—๏ฝŽ.cxc

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Character Portrait: Caddock Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell Character Portrait: Milo McClane
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#, as written by Moonstruck
cxcTruth be told the ocean was jealous of her depths.
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
โ–‘โ–‘
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...Rosalie Purnell...
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›

Rosalie expected the same banal response she always received, normally a long drawn out okaaaay. Without missing a beat though the boy asked if he could join her. Her eyes popped open with surprise, he was still standing there waiting for her to reply. It was not very often she was the one left speechless, her mouth slightly agape. She gave a nonverbal response, nodding her head agreeably and closing her eyes again. The grass rustled beside her as he laid down and continuously shifted, unable to find a good position it seemed. His restlessness rubbed off on her and when he turned his head to speak at last, she was relieved.

Him breaking the ice seemed to have thawed her limbs and she rolled onto her stomach with an abrupt energetic whirl, flipping her hair and bringing her closer to where their arms almost touched. She propped her small chin in her hands, hovering almost directly over him with strands of her hair falling in her face. Besides the zero concept of personal space, her wide unblinking smile and disheveled hair with pieces of grass sticking out gave her an otherworldly presence. "Rosalie, but you can call me Rose." She replied, then raised a finger as if to halt him from saying anything. "But not Rosie, it's juvenile and only my Uncle Ben is allowed to call me that."

She tilted her head curiously and combed some of her wild hair back behind her ears. "So what is it you are called?" Rosalie was not one to be self-conscious but it was nice to meet someone without a knowledge of her family's history and therefore had no preconceived notions of her.

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
The stars wanted her light, the rainbows envied her colors.cxc

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell Character Portrait: Milo McClane
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#, as written by Caged Bird
cxc๏ผฉ'๏ฝ ๏ฝ“๏ฝƒ๏ฝ๏ฝ’๏ฝ…๏ฝ„ ๏ฝ”๏ฝ ๏ฝ‡๏ฝ…๏ฝ” ๏ฝƒ๏ฝŒ๏ฝ๏ฝ“๏ฝ… ๏ฝ๏ฝŽ๏ฝ„ ๏ผฉ ๏ฝˆ๏ฝ๏ฝ”๏ฝ… ๏ฝ‚๏ฝ…๏ฝ‰๏ฝŽ๏ฝ‡ ๏ฝ๏ฝŒ๏ฝ๏ฝŽ๏ฝ…,
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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โ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏแ—ฐแ“ฐแ’ชแ— แ™ขcแ‘•แ’ชแ—ฉ๏ฌกแ—ดโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏ
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
โ‹ฏ๏ผฃ๏ผก๏ผฎ ๏ผน๏ผฏ๏ผต ๏ผฆ๏ผฅ๏ผฅ๏ผฌ ๏ผญ๏ผน ๏ผจ๏ผฅ๏ผก๏ผฒ๏ผดโ‹ฏโ‹ฏ
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
      "Rose, huh? A beautiful flower known for it's thorns...I wonder if that's foretelling?" He laughed with a comedic single brow arch. "I might be in over my head here." He was so charmed by her quirky, easily excitable and unwaveringly joyous personality though, that he couldn't possibly imagine that to be true. Her perky attitude was downright infectious and he found his face was growing sore from shared grins. He simply wasn't used to smiling that much...or like, at all. Milo idly reached out, because she obviously didn't understand or care for the concept of personal space, and plucked some stray blades of grass from her hair and stuck one particularly long piece behind his ear like a cowboy straight out of some campy western. "I'm Milo, but you can call me grease monkey...but only on very special occasions as it is, too, very juvenile which is beneath us exemplary adults here." This girl was downright weird, but in the best of ways. Any onlooker would have assumed them a couple from their general proximity to one another. He could count the freckles that dotted her fair skin, truly examine the varying shades of amber in her irises. It was a bit intense.

      Milo leaned up, resting on the backs of his forearms, closing even more distance between them. "So explain something to me, Rose, why is it we have never talked before today? It seems odd given we are very obviously destined to be friends." He mentally ticked off a list of reasons someone like her might want to avoid him, and found it was quite long...and also very self depreciating. His age was a big factor, he wouldn't have shared any classes with her until this year since he had to repeat the semester. This Uncle Ben would probably have objections as well, Milo wasn't exactly a model citizen.
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
๏ผฉ ๏ฝŒ๏ฝ๏ฝŽ๏ฝ‡ ๏ฝ†๏ฝ๏ฝ’ ๏ฝ”๏ฝˆ๏ฝ๏ฝ” ๏ฝ†๏ฝ…๏ฝ…๏ฝŒ๏ฝ‰๏ฝŽ๏ฝ‡ ๏ฝ”๏ฝ ๏ฝŽ๏ฝ๏ฝ” ๏ฝ†๏ฝ…๏ฝ…๏ฝŒ ๏ฝ๏ฝ” ๏ฝ๏ฝŒ๏ฝŒ.cxc

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ben Brynley Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell Character Portrait: Milo McClane
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0.00 INK

#, as written by Moonstruck
cxc
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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...Rosalie Purnell...
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
E N C H A N T E D

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›

Rosalie had her own list of reasons they may not have spoken to each other before today. Being the town nut case, protective relatives, her tendency to focus on the surreal rather than real. But none of those things rose to her mind, much less could she think of any reason she could not be friends with him. Not the stale smell of cigarettes, scars, or tattoos deterred her. She made no pre-judgments about people before getting to know them, perhaps because she could not in her small realm of understanding do that. She was enjoying their uncustomary closeness, the Van Gogh swirl of her mind lifting like a morning fog as she drank in every detail of his face now only inches from her and breathed in the warm metallic rust smell on his clothes. "I cannot think of one reason why we haven't, but I can think of a million and one reasons why we should." she replied in a tone of sweet and artless flirtation.

"Rosie!" A distant but loud voice boomed causing them to both jump back from each other like they'd each gotten a shock on the tips of their noses. Unbeknownst to them, all the buses and students had already left and they were now all alone on the front lawn of the school. Rose's smile didn't fade as they both turned to look at a dark-haired man approaching them, her shock quickly dissolving into a soft chuckle. "Oh, that's my uncle... Hi Uncle Ben!" she waved to her uncle enthusiastically, sitting up on her knees. "C'mon, get off the ground now, it's still wet! Let's go!" Ben called over, taking off his aviator glasses which served no purpose with the overcast sky and squinted his eyes at what he was seeing. He was dressed in business casual, khaki pants, button up shirt, professor's jacket. "Okay!" Rosalie stood up grass falling off her now spotted green skirt. "It was nice to meet you, Milo.. I'll see you again." she said, walking backwards a few steps reluctant to pull her eyes from his until the last second she turned around and ran to her Uncle Ben.

When she reached her uncle she met him with a big hug. "So, what were ya doin' over there, Rosie..?" Ben inquired harmlessly, indulging her hug a little longer than he normally would so he could spear a pointed glare over his niece's shoulder in the delinquent's direction. "I was talking to a new friend." "I see.." He pulled back from the hug and they walked over to his truck, Ben continuing to steal suspicious glances over his shoulder at the young man. "What's his name?" Another glance back. "Milo." "What's his age?" "I don't know." "Is he from around here?" "I think so." They were in the truck now. He faced her, his eyebrows stitched up together on his forehead, eyes catching hers in the serious expression that indicated she needed to focus. "Rosie.. That isn't a friend. You don't know him well enough to call him that." Rosalie blinked her big glass eyes at her uncle, confused and alien, unable to see where the concern was, unaware of any potential danger he saw. "But I will."

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ben Brynley Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell Character Portrait: Milo McClane
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0.00 INK

#, as written by Caged Bird
cxc๏ผท๏ฝˆ๏ฝ…๏ฝŽ ๏ฝ™๏ฝ๏ฝ• ๏ฝ†๏ฝ…๏ฝ…๏ฝŒ ๏ฝ™๏ฝ๏ฝ•'๏ฝ’๏ฝ… ๏ฝ๏ฝŒ๏ฝ๏ฝŽ๏ฝ…, ๏ฝƒ๏ฝ•๏ฝ” ๏ฝ๏ฝ†๏ฝ† ๏ฝ†๏ฝ’๏ฝ๏ฝ ๏ฝ”๏ฝˆ๏ฝ‰๏ฝ“ ๏ฝƒ๏ฝ’๏ฝ•๏ฝ…๏ฝŒ ๏ฝ—๏ฝ๏ฝ’๏ฝŒ๏ฝ„
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โ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏแ—ฐแ“ฐแ’ชแ— แ™ขcแ‘•แ’ชแ—ฉ๏ฌกแ—ดโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏ
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
โ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏ๏ผด๏ผจ๏ผฅ ๏ผญ๏ผฅ๏ผณ๏ผณ๏ผฅ๏ผฎ๏ผง๏ผฅ๏ผฒโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏ
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
      "I'll see you again." She had said, and said it so assuredly. He had to grin at that. She was a determined little thing, no matter how fragile or delicate she appeared. He had no doubts that whatever her desires were, she'd find her way to them; obstacles or no...but just then there was an additional obstacle to be had...her uncle. The way he shot arrows at Milo's hide with his eyes and the snappish tone of his voice when he called his niece away told him all he needed to know. Just like everyone else in this God forsaken town, Ben had summed up Milo's being with a glance. He assumed his character and worth was openly displayed in his manner of dress or the tattoos that decorated his body.

      He would have been offended, upset with him even for making such an assumption if it weren't an accurate one. Milo was born of salt and sweat, muscles burning and teeth bared; a stain that would never come out. He was made to rip lives apart. He liked to imagine that once upon a time, during his creation, the world was envious because he burned so brightly...so when it claimed him in kind and took what rightfully belonged to it, no one was surprised; especially not the protective parent types. Anything worth having in him died early on; all that was left behind was a foul taste on his tongue and the feeling of being completely and utterly alone.

      He waved obnoxiously at Rose as she clamored into the vehicle, his sheepish smile growing into a wolf's as soon as her back was to him and her uncle and Milo had locked eyes. "Bye uncle Ben!" Milo sang with a straight face, cheerful tone, and a wink; he was such a tease. The car pulled out with a jerk and a choke, and suddenly he was alone again, finding he already missed her presence.

      He sighed and heaved himself off the ground. He couldn't be late to work least he have live off Top Ramen for the rest of his life...or worse, middle or bottom Ramen. Off to mop the floors of City Hall it was, before he'd have to haul ass back to the auto body shop for his shift there. All he really wanted was a nap.
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
๏ผน๏ฝ๏ฝ•๏ฝ’ ๏ฝ‰๏ฝŽ๏ฝ“๏ฝ”๏ฝ‰๏ฝŽ๏ฝƒ๏ฝ”'๏ฝ“ ๏ฝ”๏ฝ…๏ฝŒ๏ฝŒ๏ฝ‰๏ฝŽ๏ฝ‡ ๏ฝ™๏ฝ๏ฝ• ๏ฝ”๏ฝ ๏ฝ’๏ฝ•๏ฝŽ.cxc

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ben Brynley Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell
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0.00 INK

#, as written by Moonstruck
cxc...
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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...Ben Brynley...
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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Giants
โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›

It had not been Benโ€™s intention to become a man of importance. He had become so unintentionally, with what felt like an embarrassing amount of little effort like he had Prom King his Senior year of high school. He had his whole life fought against the notion that everything he earned had been handed to him or won by his accidental charisma. He was of proud blue-collar working class stock with a puritanical set of working values, which made being sloth-like or vain two of the worst mortal sins.

His father had been proud when Ben was hired at the saw mill in high school, but later when he had become assistant manager, then eventually the youngest union leader ever at Eagleโ€™s Ravine Saw Mill in his 20's, he was scorned. His hands would become soft like a womanโ€™s from not having to do all the hard labor like he used to his father said. It didnโ€™t matter he was fighting for the everyday man, because he was no longer one of them. Men made things with their hands, what was he making? As sweet a victory as being elected to the Mayorโ€™s office had been, even years after his father's death, it had somewhat been soured by his memory. He felt as if he was forsaking his roots, now a politic who had won his seat by kissing babies and flashing a charming smile. โ€œYou need to be a man.โ€ His father whispered from a beyond the grave. โ€œ...Just not like that.โ€

It is what motivated him though to put in such long hours at the office and events. He never said no when it came to work or just having dinner with one of the working families. Even though he had been elected twice he still had to prove he deserved to be there, and if he was going to be an elected pansy official he might as well be a good one. Shame drove him to extreme lengths. He either did the work or suffered from an unbearably guilty mind that only valued his worth at the total amount of tasks completed in a day.

Ben and Rose arrived at the office and were greeted by Pam, Benโ€™s soon to be retired secretary. She was perhaps the only person in the whole town that found his quirky little niece endearing. Then again she was borne with such a maternal instinct that she would baby talk to anything small, including a petite rock. โ€œHello sweetie! Well arenโ€™t you just cute as a button today? Look at your little dress.โ€ She crooned, placing two kisses on either side of the girlโ€™s face. Rose smiled dazedly, an expression she hadnโ€™t been able to wipe off since meeting her friend at school. โ€œWhy thank you Pam. You look lovely too.โ€

โ€œYouโ€™ve just raised the sweetest girls, Ben Brynley. You should be proud. I am going to miss them.. Iโ€™ll miss you too, but these babies made it worth it..โ€ Pam sighed clasping her hands together sentimentally in front of her. Ben grinned, โ€œI know theyโ€™ll miss you too. Wonโ€™t you Rose?โ€ he prompted the spacey girl. Rose took the queue and nodded, โ€œVery much so.โ€ They redirected their focus to that eveningโ€™s Town Hall meeting, going over his notes and possible questions. Ben considered leaving his niece as he normally would in his office, but reconsidered. Perhaps it was time to give her some more exposure to the world, so he took her to the Town Hall.

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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...Rosalie Purnell...
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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Once Upon a Dream
โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›


The Town Hall building held a double function as a community center for the small town, so the meeting was held in what was a gymnasium/auditorium. There was a crowd of about 30 or so people waiting inside, voices reverberating off the high ceiling. Most of the participants in this meeting were dressed in plaid and jeans, Carhaart jackets and John Deere hats. A good many of them must have been workers at the saw mill. Rose rarely went to any of her uncle's events, making this mildly exciting for the girl. Normally he wasn't willing to risk having her in a room of crowded people for fear of what she might do next.

She followed closely by her Uncle's side as a mature white haired gentlemen in overalls approached them. He was too old to be working in the saw mill but was no doubt an older resident who still found it important to attend the Town Hall meetings. Ben appeared to know who he was though Rose hadn't a clue. "Mr.Mosher. How are you, sir?" Ben asked with familiarity. "Good, good son. I'm looking forward to this meeting." His gaze shifted to Rose. "My.. It's been a while, Rosie. I see you've outgrown your fairy wings." A year ago Rosie was a fairy for Halloween but she had kept the cheap wire and mesh wings as an accessory which she wore for months after. "Sadly someone broke them at school and I had to throw them away." Rose replied with her constant smile. "Oh well, that's too bad... You're graduating this year aren't you?"

"Yes, she is." Ben intercepted at this point, hijacking the conversation. Rose's jaw clamped shut, swallowing her answer.

"What will she be doing?"

"We don't know yet.."

This is how many conversations went. Her being spoken of as if she were not in the room. As if she could not speak for herself. She knew the real underlying question of the man's inquiry. What would become of her? Her mind left the conversation as there was no real point in her continued attention. As her gaze drifted across the crowd of people, something caught her attention just in her periphery. She looked towards the open gymnasium doors, seeing a shadowy figure beyond in the hallway move out of sight.

She tilted her head like a curious animal and after a moment of contemplation decided to investigate. At times her illusions got the best of her curiosity when there was nothing else to distract her and clearly no one was paying attention to her. Her Uncle Ben had been drawn into the company of a group of people and she slipped away unnoticed. She walked discreetly until she got into the hallway, then picked up her pace, turning in the direction she saw the shadow flee. At the end of the half lit hall the blurry shadow rested until it was spotted by her and fled down yet another hall. She took off almost full sprint after it, sneakers squeaking over freshly waxed floors. What was it? Why was it running? Was it one of "they"? What would she even do with it if she caught it? Her logic seemed just as sound as a dog chasing a car.

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
...cxc

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell Character Portrait: Milo McClane
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

0.00 INK

#, as written by Caged Bird
cxc๏ผด๏ฝ๏ฝ‹๏ฝ… ๏ฝ๏ฝ… ๏ฝ๏ฝ•๏ฝ” ๏ฝ๏ฝ† ๏ฝ”๏ฝˆ๏ฝ‰๏ฝ“ ๏ฝ๏ฝŒ๏ฝ๏ฝƒ๏ฝ… ๏ผฉ๏ผ‡๏ฝ ๏ฝ‰๏ฝŽ๏ผŒ
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โ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏแ—ฐแ“ฐแ’ชแ— แ™ขcแ‘•แ’ชแ—ฉ๏ฌกแ—ดโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏ
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
๏ผค๏ผก๏ผต๏ผง๏ผจ๏ผด๏ผฅ๏ผฒ๏ผ๏ผจ๏ผต๏ผญ๏ผก๏ผฎ
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
      Milo pushed the floor buffer around, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from rattling in his head. His arms burned and ached but he was already most of the way through the south hall. Waxing the floors provided him a moment of ataraxia, time to tune out the rest of the world and just have his equanimity. It was tranquil, relaxing almost when the community center was empty...Of course, it wasn't really empty. The odd, stray, flannel wrapped redneck or two would wander over trying to gain access to the auditorium for some big to do with the mayor or something. They cast him surreptitiously disapproving glances as they stumbled back the direction they came in the effort to find an alternative route to their meeting that didn't lead them perilously across a lane of polish. Milo was too quiet, or he was too loud. He took things too seriously, or not seriously at all. He was too sensitive, or too cold-hearted. He hated with every fiber of his being, or loved with every piece of his heart. There was no in-between for him. It was either all or nothing. He wanted everything but settled for nothing. So it was no surprize that he wasn't widely supported by those that shared a town with him...Given that, it also came as no surprize that when alotted time for his mind to wander that it had already wandered back to her. He wasn't inexperienced when it came to limerence, but this was different. He was suddenly obsessing over a girl who he was convinced was born from myth; walked out of the ocean like Amphitrite going for a sunday stroll but still somehow the most real thing he'd ever known.

      It was resting on that thought that his dream world and reality seemed to collide. Dancing down the corridor, her feet scarcely finding the ground, Rosalie chased after an unseen spector. She didn't really seem to take notice of him, or anything really apart from the object of her mission which remained a mystery to the janitor. He cracked a smile, cutting his machine off with a switch in the hope the sudden silence would be startling enough. "Hey there little flower. I know we hit it off and everything, but stalking? That's a first for me. Can't say I'm not flattered though..."
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
๏ผข๏ฝ’๏ฝ…๏ฝ๏ฝ‹ ๏ฝ๏ฝ… ๏ฝ๏ฝ•๏ฝ” ๏ฝ๏ฝ† ๏ฝ”๏ฝˆ๏ฝ‰๏ฝ“ ๏ฝ“๏ฝˆ๏ฝ…๏ฝŒ๏ฝŒ๏ผ๏ฝŒ๏ฝ‰๏ฝ‹๏ฝ… ๏ฝƒ๏ฝ๏ฝ“๏ฝ… ๏ผฉ๏ผ‡๏ฝ ๏ฝ‰๏ฝŽ๏ผŽcxc

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell Character Portrait: Milo McClane
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0.00 INK

#, as written by Moonstruck
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โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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...Rosalie Purnell...
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
In the Shallows

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›

Rosalie had not noticed Milo or his machine until the last second, she attempted to stop and comically slid on the freshly waxed floor. Her sneakers screeched until she finally managed to come to a halt on her tip toes fighting momentum from tipping her over then fell back flat on her feet. She panted attempting to catch her breath and blew a strand of wayward hair. As he greeted her she casually peered past him over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the shadow. It stood at the other end of the hall and seeming to know the chase was over, dissipated into nothingness.

Milo's words only vaguely sunk in while she was distracted, then upon returning to the present, full comprehension dawned on her. "Huh? Wha? Oh! -- No! I wasn't stalking you! I was.. I was.." her flushed face deepened even redder, the crimson rising to the tips of her ears. Looking into those world-worn eyes there was nothing more that she wanted than to let him into her world. She knew better than to talk about her visions though. Her mother had warned her against it when she was very little and she knew the real consequences of not following such advice. "I was just trying to find a bathroom." She finished putting her hands behind her back innocently with a sheepish smile. She rocked back and forth from heel to toe, then daintily walked around him as if in quest. "Do you know where it is?-- Whoa!" She had spun around on her toe to face him again as she asked her question only to have the waxed floor and gravity finally have its way with her and cause her to slip. Her face planted into Milo's firm chest and her hands clung to his shirt to keep herself from completely falling to the ground.

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell Character Portrait: Milo McClane
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0.00 INK

#, as written by Caged Bird
cxcTสœแด‡ส€แด‡'s sแดแดแด‡แด›สœษชษดษข ษชษดsษชแด…แด‡ แดแด‡ แด›สœแด€แด› แด˜แดœสŸสŸs ส™แด‡ษดแด‡แด€แด›สœ แด›สœแด‡ sแดœส€า“แด€แด„แด‡ แด„แดษดsแดœแดษชษดษข, แด„แดษดา“แดœsษชษดษข แดกสœแด€แด› ษชs ส€แด‡แด€สŸ.
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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โ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏแ—ฐแ“ฐแ’ชแ— แ™ขcแ‘•แ’ชแ—ฉ๏ฌกแ—ดโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏ
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
๏ผฌ๏ผฉ๏ผฎ๏ผซ๏ผฉ๏ผฎ ๏ผฐ๏ผก๏ผฒ๏ผซโ”๏ผฃ๏ผฒ๏ผก๏ผท๏ผฌ๏ผฉ๏ผฎ๏ผง
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
      She was all razor edges and broken glass as she slipped on the floor polish and crashed into him. He could feel her bones as he wrapped his arms around her, feel her shoulder blades where they rose like the beginnings of wings. Her diminutive body was surprisingly full of sharp lines, so much so that he ought to have worried that she'd cut him to ribbons, but embracing her so suddenly he realized he wouldn't have minded if she did. Milo's hold lingered a bit longer than probably necessary as he righted her, dimpling down with a weak gaze and a sleepy smile fit for warm sunday mornings spent in bed. "Easy there, hate for you to take a nasty spill on account of me. I'm not worth the trouble." He finally let go as soon as he was sure she wasn't going to sink again. "It takes a certain sort of finesse to navigate the hallways after they're all glossy...Don't feel too bad." Milo's eyes trailed from Rose to his cart and back again, a neonate idea forming. He held up a finger to signal her to wait right there and skidded back over to his machine and station, feeling more than a little like a dolt. She would probably think he was unhinged. He quickly retrived a set of microfiber rags from a platic storage nook above the wheels and brought them over to Rosalie before dropping into a crouch at her feet, gesturing for her to lift her foot before he undid her laces and looped them underneath her shoe to secure the cloth over her sole before he repeated the action with the other shoe.

      "There." he said before tying the second set to the bottoms of his own boots. "Now we can skate." As though Rose was nothing but air herself, he pulled her into a sweeping dance. He wasn't the least bit poise, but he compensated for it with his feral grace, never faltering, always sensing any stumble before they made it as they glided across the waxy floor. Milo felt as unburdened as a piece of dandelion fluff, and she was the wind that stirred him about the place. He smiled at her brighter this time, and found her smiling back. He didnโ€™t need to pretend, didnโ€™t need to be anything but what he was right then, twirling her down the hall. "Is that any better?" He sang, voice punctuated by laughter.
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
Tสœษชs สŸแด€แด„แด‹ แดา“ sแด‡สŸา“-แด„แดษดแด›ส€แดสŸ I า“แด‡แด€ส€ ษชs ษดแด‡แด แด‡ส€ แด‡ษดแด…ษชษดษข แด„แดษดแด›ส€แดสŸสŸษชษดษข, แด„แดษดา“แดœsษชษดษข แดกสœแด€แด› ษชs ส€แด‡แด€สŸ.cxc

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell Character Portrait: Milo McClane
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0.00 INK

#, as written by Moonstruck
cxc
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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...Rosalie Purnell...
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
STARRY-EYED

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›

As they whirled down the hall, Rosalie threw back her head allowing centrifugal force to pull her as Milo held onto her hands. She came back up beaming, smiling at his smile that he seemed to be enjoying this whimsical moment as much as she was. She could never recall a time in her life having done something so spontaneous with another person. Most kids her age rarely indulged in such play, too much in a hurry to grow up and taking themselves too seriously. She bobbed her head enthusiastically in reply to his question, still chuckling. "Yes."

They were slowing down now, almost coming to a stop, but out of reluctance to let the moment go or perhaps just to hold his hand a little longer, Rosalie pushed off again. "Come on, let's go this way." she directed, tugging him along by one hand further down the hall. They skated down a ways, still laughing at themselves and nothing in particular until they came across one of the jarred doors leading into the auditorium. They skidded to a stop just outside the door and Rosalie held up a mischievous finger to her lips then pointed inside. "This is why I'm here..." she whispered.

Inside the auditorium the town hall meeting had commenced and her Uncle Ben was in the full swing of his speech regarding the expansion and conservation of Eagle Ravine's waterfront park, punctuating his points with a closed a fist, looking earnestly to his audience.

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ben Brynley Character Portrait: Rosalie Purnell Character Portrait: Milo McClane
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0.00 INK

#, as written by Caged Bird
cxcI'แด แด›สœแด‡ แดŠแด‡แด› ส™สŸแด€แด„แด‹ sแด‹ส, แด›สœแด€แด›'s แดŠแดœsแด› ส™แด‡า“แดส€แด‡ แด›สœแด‡ ส€แด€ษชษด
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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โ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏแ—ฐแ“ฐแ’ชแ— แ™ขcแ‘•แ’ชแ—ฉ๏ฌกแ—ดโ‹ฏโ‹ฏโ‹ฏ
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
๏ผฃ๏ผฉ๏ผด๏ผน ๏ผ† ๏ผฃ๏ผฏ๏ผฌ๏ผฏ๏ผต๏ผฒ๏ผ๏ผฎ๏ผฏ๏ผฒ๏ผด๏ผจ๏ผฅ๏ผฒ๏ผฎ ๏ผท๏ผฉ๏ผฎ๏ผค
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”“
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โ”—โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”›
      Milo stiffened as they slid to a hault, his eyes combing over the proceeding with distaste, unsure of what it was she must of been referencing. It couldn't be the meeting, she wasn't the type...was she? "You're here because you love slowly boring yourself to tears with small town politics?" He huffed, gaze finally landing on the mayor at his podium, preeching some version of the municipality's sermon or another. He was hard to make out over the sea of balding heads, but his voice carried clearly enough. "Man, what a pompous ass." Milo noted, longing to tug her hand and lead her back the way they came, through the dimly lit hallways. He just wanted to simply slink away from the milieu like a set of silent spectres never quite seen. The bright over head lights spilling over them through the set of double doors felt all too blinding, too revealing. That light, along with the people under it, left him feeling fragile and exposed, like a heat-damaged vase about to crack. He always found solace in the shadows, enjoying how the dark wrapped him up and promised to keep him safe for just a few hours. Milo was alien, different and set apart from the people who called this place home. He didn't belong here and he never would. He was painfully alive in this drugged and dying culture...
โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
Lษชแด‹แด‡ แด›สœแด‡ แดษชษขสœแด›ส แด„แดœส€ส€แด‡ษดแด›, แด˜แดœสŸสŸษชษด' สแดแดœ แดœษดแด…แด‡ส€ แด›สœแด‡ แดกแด€แด แด‡s.cxc

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