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Bailey Johnson

"They say you love and you lose. You lose more"

0 · 568 views · located in Gretna, Louisiana, 1922

a character in “Vice & Bloodlines”, originally authored by The Fake Philosopher, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description



Bailey Marie Johnson
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Name:
Bailey Marie Johnson

Origin:
Harley, Louisiana

Residing In:
Grenta, Louisiana

Years:
Twenty Three - December 24th, 1899

Accolades:
Juniper Johnson - Single Mother

Charles Rockwell - Killed in Action Boyfriend


Catharsis:
Blow them away by doing what they didn't believe

Demeanor:
Make your own opportunities & rely on no one

Word Around Town:
"she got a real way with words that girl" // "if she dont get over that Charles she's going to die alone" // "that girl can hold your interest" //



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In her short lifetime there have been events to change her. Many say it changed her for the worse. The few that knew her in her earlier teenage years vouch for her openness and carefree spirit. Those that know her now use words like calculated and private.

It wasn't always like this you see. To understand you must go back to the beginning, before the heartbreak and abandonment.

Growing up it wasn't damn near easy, but it wasn't as hard as it is now. Her father packed up and left when he heard of Juniper's pregnancy. Some say he went so far as to leave the country. So Bailey never learned to live without him, only to live. That was where her impression of men began. To ensure that Bailey never ended up in the predicament her mother was in, she was taught to focus on nothing but her studies and motivations.

Bailey did exactly that. She didn't wrap herself up in men. Her nose stayed in a book for much of her teenage years omg why am i not done

So begins...

Bailey Johnson's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rem Bates Character Portrait: Roux Bates Character Portrait: Harlow Brynn B. Character Portrait: Sophia Moon Character Portrait: Atticus Montgomery Character Portrait: June Reilly-Snow
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↔Harlow Brynn Bates↔

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Armistice of night, copious and quiet, crept on to Gretna at the tail end of February like an old friend. The only thing known to a Louisiana humanity to be chthonic, kept and kind within the law. Peace was never made these days, only dreamt of in soft hums on the dry tongues of men behind bars. Those who’d come to their epiphanies after anger had run its long course. Most folks took to the night for their reconciliations. Rocking on a sapped porch with empty tin buckets. But often… This seed sowed from greed and the feeling of being thieved upon was intractable. Ain’t no amount of days, weeks, or months in a concrete box bound to fix up what the prohibition set into the minds of many, many men. Even freedom itself could not soothe the stab and sting of Louisiana’s bread and butter. Or lack thereof.

Families sewed up their loose ends best way they knew how, most of ‘em honest, too shook in their boots to do much different. The Snows battened down. Still had their fortunes but sure lacked the luxury of paradise parties and aged libations. Where windows were lit and laughter was heard, there was cause for concern. Knocks on polished pine could pass for gunshots due to the intent behind it. The fear in not just this town, but others across the board, was very real. There was no choice left. Honesty had become just another metonym for debt and hunger.

You name one person in this town who ain’t been a victim of the Detroit blow in’s. That’s right. You can’t. Even if you’re honest, you best be quiet ‘round here.

Hell, even Remington Bates kept his wife off the stoop of the Honey Stop when he heard them black jalopies grumbling their way up the road. Detroit boys were always asking for trouble, knowin’ their upper hand was long and strong and faced little recoil when they wanted to put anybody they so chose through the wringer. Rapping billy clubs ‘gainst the front doors of homes, window panes of local shoppes, spitting obliquely and staring so hard that it’d make y’sick. Could put a preacher on his head after confessionals. They weren’t afraid of nothin’, took no issue with who they frisked. Rich, poor, woman, man, child. Didn’t much matter.

And the Mississippi Honey Stop… Turning into an asylum, kept the company of spirits new and old, just lookin’ for some goodness in all the bad. The misfortune [literal] in all of it was that nobody could pick a penny out of the slime of a swamp and make it stretch an hour in Gretna. Times were too hard. Rem and Harlow made the place more of a soup kitchen, the harbor in which anything up the creek could feel warm a little while. Full.

Dandelion shudders outside collected more dust than cicadas. Country strum was all but gone in the waste of winter, even when they hit the high sixties with nothing but sunshine for miles. Fans didn’t swing. Just cast shade over the rhythmic two step of a mother and child, cooing in kinship with measured merriment. Least the place was kept real clean. Paint tended to every few months. All yellows and blues like the corn color of summer country. Every table tightened and spotless. Lord knew that was just the way of Harlow Bates, couldn’t stand a mess or a singular crumb. When she married, the world thought it’d fall if that boy left a bed sheet untucked. Seemed to work out just fine though. She didn’t stir when he cinched a suspender two inches too lose. They got by a lot on smiles, ‘spite of obvious asymmetry. Made a beautiful home for themselves and the place they grew.

As dusk dipped low on the horizon, a chill blew in through the doorway of the only canteen left in force. Idle silhouettes barely bobbed back and forth. The Honey Stop yielded the same crowd: dark haired butterflies with their ashtrays kept under finger, old Blue and Ruger sloppin’ up a corner designated for dogs surer to go to heaven before out of state cops. The occasional drifter with a rickety soup spoon grasp, then the deputy when he was hurting for a hard cup of coffee.

ImageMetallic canticles croaked out of a register too rarely touched, “Got a mind to start chargin’ my folks for honey.” With ochroid strands thrown about, Harlow’s circling scrutiny was hard to monitor. Nola hiccuped on her arm, cheeks pinker than carnations in her post feeding bliss, eyes just like her daddy’s: sapphire and somnolent. “Running all over hell’s half acre…” Her mother muttered punching in numbers, all one-handed without much faltering. But a beam set to the corners of her mouth and she sighed. Just another day. The same labors for the same love. Soon she’d be trading out the sweat-stuck cotton of her dress and kissin’ the heads of her favorite folk goodnight or goodbye. Even Roux, who slightly shifted each time yet didn’t object.

She loved him. Loved him, loved him loved him.

Took to those Bates like they were her blood all along. Noel, who dug at his brothers something fierce, protected them fiercer. Loved him. Roux, whose eyes were not seldom wide and spoke more to his dog than to people. Loved him. When she married Rem, the tracts between herself and rapture just filled themselves in. His mother said it was something about good love. Knowing the difference was the key. Said Harlow Snow knew all along, that’s why she chose herself a Bates boy and found all those things she was lookin’ for but could never call by name. She never had to, after Rem.

Love stories aside, the Honey Stop accrued altruism in the most critical of deficits. Some days it seemed like it was all the town had left. Which at times could bear weight on the married couple that ran it. Integrity as a rule came before capital, and lamentably it was startin’ to show.

He knew by the way she wiped dew from her brow on the back of a wrist that was sore every hour of the night. She knew by the way he closed the doors at the stop with shoulders heavy, singular fixed look and not much to say at all. They’d never lost their sense of self. But they’d certainly experienced their sense of sustenance dwindling away. Sophia’d come by often with a side eye and mumble about bathtub gin, wanting to repay a favor she felt was owed. That girl was full of fire, a spur like nothing Harlow had ever seen. She’d be tellin’ a lie if she said she didn’t think about pulling her aside and asking for the down low about what risks they’d run if they wanted to brew something themselves. But went with her better judgment, admitting to herself that if Rem didn’t entertain it yet, it was best she don’t neither.

Guess what spooked her most was thinking how she was gonna’ bring little Nola up in this world, in these straits. Couldn’t just count on June to stick ‘round forever and watch the baby, pick up where Harlow couldn’t when the days got too rough. June needed to go and live her life. Deserved it most, taking what she did from Daxton.

“June,” Harlow called quietly over the clink of ware at its last hour, “You mind taking Nola for a walk ‘round the porch? She’s just about asleep and I wanted to close out the register since my husband won’t hit a lick at a snake when he’s flapping his gums at the deputy.” A playful wink was supplied, then followed with, “And June?”

With Nola cradled against both forearms, a chaise only a mother could make, Harlow conferred her to June, “Not too long out there, alright? That detective with Detroit’s department’s been snooping around. Thinks we can’t see ‘im in the dark. Got nothing but the candle jars out there so just stay by the windows, holler if you need anything. Rem’s right by the door and the deputy, too.” She tucked the baby girl into a blanket, its edges hidden in the crook of June’s elbow, “Won’t have these men from out of town trying to cut our tails. Shaking down a lady, much less my sister in law.” Harlow rubbed the sleeve of June’s shirt. She could feel Rem’s eyes imbued with protective nature. Up and down his wife’s frame in a wordless diction of, “You gon’ send her out there with Nol’ alone?”

There was a slight pivot in her stance, a small reassuring smile. He’d take it, graze a short fingernail over five o’clock shadows and continue his conversation but only after he knew that everything was alright. Never missed a beat where their safety was concerned.

Harlow hung a rag over her shoulder, took the candles from the tables and every so often peered onto the porch. Dried her hands on thin ivory, skirt bunched for a second before dropping to its full length again. A soft glow hit the window glass and flickered out of existence in zaps of night wind. Off to the left sat a heartbreaker and victim of her own, Bailey Marie. Harlow racked her brain a thousand times over tryin’ to find any words worth saying to someone who lost the love of their life. Couldn’t likely imagine the agony of going on without Rem, and found herself with a creased brow, lump stuck in the throat, giving Bailey pieces of pie she never touched a dozen times over. That Johnson girl was perhaps the only person Harlow couldn’t soothe.

The Honey Stop was cozy inside, even with the sadness of transients. Outside was a little colder. Lonelier. Most they’d see is that tumbleweed of a girl, Anna Leigh. Maybe sittin’ low by the last stair and brooding way she mostly did with her red lips rollin’ under chattering teeth. Girl kept to herself but they’d seen their share of her at the stop. Fed her a few times, though she insisted she didn’t need none. It was quiet. Almost all the time.

It won’t happen to us. I’m just being cautious. They wouldn’t come ‘round asking questions at this hour, would they?

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Rem Bates Character Portrait: Roux Bates Character Portrait: Harlow Brynn B. Character Portrait: Bailey Johnson
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ImageHow in sam hill did I end up here? June wondered as she stared out one of the windows of The Honey Stop. Just years before she had been planning on making something of her life. Being the woman her mother never was and the woman her father never thought she would be. But now, she was living with her sister-in-law and her family and she couldn't stop and wonder just how her plans had been so thuroghly derailed. It wasn't all Daxton Snow, she knew, but he had played a large part. He saw her as a wife and a baby maker. Not as an equal. Not how she needed to be seen. Her body was her own and no one would change that for her.

When she first joined the Bates family, she was a little surprised at how easy it was to fit in. They were kindhearted folk and looked out for those who needed looking after and, since finding herself out of her home, she was one of those people. She was a bit uncomoftable with the fact there was a child in the home. Especially since children were what she and Daxton had faught about more than anything. She ached when she watched Harlow and Rem Bates when they thought no one was looking. It was intimate but not passionate. More like discrete looks full of meaning and soft touches with unspoken words. June didn't have that. June wondered if she would ever have that.

Truth was, she hated Daxton Snow. She hated that he could never love her, that she could never love him. She hated their fights and she hated the way he looked at her. As if she was less than a human being. And She hated how he treated her. Like property. How on earth had she ever ended up by his side? Why did she follow him when she knew it would mean trouble.

A soft southern voice broke her from her thoughts as her sister in law, Harlow called to her from the behind the counter. She turned her head slowly, dazed after being lost inside her head for so long. It was dark out now and the stars were shining like diamonds in the sky. They seemed so close and yet so far away. She knew if she reached up to grab one they would bee pulled from her hands just as her dreams had been. "Yeah, Suga'? She replied, her voice soft from diuse.

Harlow carried over her small bundle of joy, Nola, and passed her gently into her arms. The first time Harlow pulled this, June held so still, afraid to drop the delicate child. After all the arguements she had with Daxton about kids came flooding back to her and she wanted nothing more than for Harlow to take Nola and move far away from her. She was shaking by the time Harlow returned.

Now, June smiled softly at the little girl in her arms and brushed a finger lightly over her pink cheeks, soft as Georgia peaches. Her little niece was as cute as could be and probably the best thing that ever came from a Snow. She stood from her spot by the window, sparing Harlow and noticed Bailey off to the side, eyes about as lost as June's own. Not for loss of love, no. Not for June. But for loss of dreams and of freedom. For even though she was away from Daxton, the divorce wasn't quite finalized meaning he had a hold on all of her things, and their arguments haunted her everyday. Her worth was something she constantly questioned. She shook her head and made her way to the front porch.

Even with all the dark in Louisiana, this place often held a magic of its own. From New Orleans to a place such at Gretna. Only here, especially at night, the magic came in the form of fireflies. She sat on the front porch swing and rocked little Nola gently. She was nearly asleep now and she was thankful Rem had remembered to oil the chains so that the swing wouldn't squeak beneath her weight. She wasn't quite sure what the cops wanted in these parts. Or at least so late at night. She wasn't too terrified of the things that went bump in the night. Not many folk around who would mess with a Bates.

ImageFor the first time, in a long time, as she gazed down at the sleeping face of her niece she felt the need to sing. And so she did. It was soft and melodic. A lullaby about fireflies and dreams. She heard footsteps on the gravel just down the walk, but refused to be afraid, instead she sung just a little louder, hoping Rem or Harlow could hear from the other side of the door. When the stranger joined them in the firelight of the lamps, she realied he was another officer of the law.

He was lax in the dead of night, but the type of man who under the sun, didn't budge his square shoulders other than to flash his badge. Here, he talked softly as if afraid of disturbing the peace. Or: well aware that the Honey Stop was packed to the brim with Gretna natives that ain't want nothing with alien law. More over, the Bates Boys wouldn't take kindly to someone snooping around the shadow cast by the restaurant. Tip toeing and sneaking and peeking for answers they'd try to corner someone into givin'. And here? A woman holding another's most cherished treasure at closing time? Well, that would make anyone feel some type of way. 'Cause a real southern gentleman would think twice before he ever invaded the space of woman and infant.

"Evenin' Maam," he said with tip of his hat, a wasted effort on June. He was a man and he wasn't Rem. He hadn't earned her respect and he was around at such a late hour she knew meant nothing good. She said nothing to him and he continued. "Beautiful evenings here," he let it roll off his tongue as if they were old friends, a gesture only a snake might use at this hour of night, "Warmer than Michigan, gotta' say I don't feel much homesick..." A canine tore open an angle at his mouth, comparable to the way a hungry predator looks at a lone gazelle. He kept a distance. Studied June, then dropped his gaze from the focus of her pretty dark hair to the child in her arms, "If you don't mind me askin', where's Papa? It's not right for mother and child to be out alone. I mean..."

"I mind. I have nothing to say to you." She replied, covering Nola's ear with one hand in and effort to stiffle their voices. The last thing she wanted was for the little one to wake. "And her Papa's just inside so don't you try nothin' or he'll be here to kick you back to Michigan."

"Aw," it slithered from his mouth with a sort of mock Louisiana twang, "Don't worry." His hands went up in a manner of surrender - a treaty. "I'll keep real quiet," he paced toward the porch swing, eventually closing the distance, "Won't be no need to speak real loud. I'll make it real simple, alright, miss?" A hand closed around one of the chains and brought the swing to a sudden halt, "Wouldn't wanna' upset this little bundle of joy, would I?"

June stiffened, bearing her teeth slightly. He thought he was a wolf gazing at a sheep, but she wouldn't let him swallow her whole. Or her niece. "Jus what do you want so late at night?" June was beginning to wonder if he really was a cop. Afterall, weren't cops supposed to make one feel safe?

June revealed nothing. The detective removed his hat, a twitch in his facial muscles as he did so. "Daddy must have taught his girls not to talk to strangers, huh... Good." His fingers grated the cold steel, silent from its recent oiling. In his free hand he held a brim to his chest. Leaned closer to June's tresses that he seemed so taken with at first glance, "Y'know, I'm thinking I might stay here in Gretna. Why go back to Detroit when I'm just so damn cozy in this itty bitty paradise, huh? Buncha' pretty little things and plenty of secrets to keep my pockets fat."

Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. She had her own secrets and they were none of his buisness.

He pulled back and stepped an inch apart. Let the swing oscillate and shake a bit with his release, "It's alright, sweet pea. I know all about your little family in there, anyway. You're not tellin' me anything, but you're showin' me everything. Running off on Daxton to play house with that Snow girl. They got a word for that, y'know. They call it mutiny. But around these parts they'd probably just call it uh..."

June bristled at the sound of his name. That was definitely none of his business. "You. Know. Nothing. About Daxton and Me. And you never will. It's none of your business. Go back to Michigan."

Snuffing a laugh, he tipped his chin toward the sky so his eyes cast low at her, "A wife who's cold in the cot. Now now," he felt her rustle with agitation, "You wouldn't wanna' wake little Nola Mae. She's the only shot you got at being half a housewife."

She was tense as a rubber band pulled tight and ready to snap. How did he know her name? Well if he was a cop he had probably read up on the Bates family. But it was the threat in his voice that made her bear her teeth at him. Call her crazy all he wanted--not that he had--but no one was to lay a dastardly hand on Nola.

He hung up his hat on the railing of the porch, "Alright, girly. Guess you aren't going to whisper sweet lullabies to me and tell me where those beaten trails in the woods lead to. That's alright. 'Cause when I follow them, I'll know if you knew anythin' about it."

June raised an eyebrow at the man. What did he want with the trails? Even she didn't truly know where they went. But still she said nothing about them. If something was going on that wasn't quite legal that involved her in-laws she was going to keep her mouth shut. She owed them a lot and she wasn't about to betray their trust. "Do what you want, Suh. Everyone here does." She spoke loud enough to be heard through the door. "Like I said, Suh. It's late. So goodnight to you." There was steel in her eyes. "And don't threaten my family. They've done more good than you would ever wish to accomplish in a lifetime."

"Harlow, Shug? You comin'?" She called out.