Nickname: "Heaven" on more than one occasion.
Age: 19// October 5, 1996 // Scorpio // ESTP
Gender: Female
Physical Description: Haven is what most people call "different" with a capital D and a haughty eye-roll. Her hair isn't dyed its bright red, but everyone thinks it is, and perhaps that's her fault-- she does have a penchant for body-modification. She has no facial piercings, but she has many ear piercings and almost as many tattoos. Black ink adorns her willowy structure-- an arrow at the back of her neck, a compass rose on her arm. Scrawled in looping font along her ankle is the word "bulletproof" (which is far more literal than most people think) and on her hip, she has a small lightbulb. Haven is tall, at 6'0, a monster of a girl with only size seven feet, so most people notice that before they notice the tattoos. Or, they stare at her with anger or resentment, because the first thing they noticed was the way she dresses. Her general description-- that of a hooligan, isn't contested sharply by her choice of hobby-- Baking. She loves it, and it loves her back (the perpetual smell of coffee, sugar, and chocolate seep into her skin, and a perpetual layering of flour and baking powder make her appear paler than she is). Still, she presents the air of someone not to be messed with, and that's because that's what she wants.
Personality: It isn't so much that she's mean so much as prickly, isn't so much that she's distant so much as defensive. In general, people are intimidated by her, and she likes it that way-- she grew up where one day you had a friend, the next you didn't, and because of that she's got a hard shell around herself that is tough to see passed. She's got a self preserving streak in her, not because she cares more about herself than anyone else-- behind all her walls she's loyal, dependable, and on occasion caring-- but because that's the only way she survived before. Her mother, before Katrina, called her a Tree, but afterwards? She'd whisper about the graveyard her daughter had become, but she didn't say it in a mean way-- as a Tree she was strong, but when the Levees broke trees fell. Graveyards are eternal, and even flooded they will always be graveyards. Haven herself likes to think her mother was complementing her, then.
A Brief History: Haven was born in New Orleans, the mistake Capital of the country, but that didn't make her a mistake-- her mother, her father, they both loved her with everything they had. There's almost no trace of that girl left-- swept away by destruction-- but she used to wear flowery dresses and speaking tongues. Dreaming used to be her favorite activity-- writing poetry, bringing hand-baked cakes to girls at her school (a private institution, then, where she brought a bible before she brought a book bag). Sometimes, in the dead of night, Haven will look back at that girl and wonder how she survived, because nothing destroys a dreamer quite like nightmares become real.
The Levees were supposed to hold-- they were built to do that. So why didn't they? Haven was nine and suffering through the worst storm of her life, huddled on the inside of a bathtub as god poured down his wrath onto them. She didn't cry-- storms never scared her-- but nerves pulled at the base of her chest and her mother sang to her some little forgotten lullaby. Her father wasn't home yet-- why? She could remember asking for him, then crying for him, then demanding him, by the time her mother forced her up the stairs and onto the cold, cold roof to get away from the flooding. That didn't help any, of course, by that time in the night he was floating along with other bodies towards a river or the sea. He'd died when the Levees broke.
It wasn't that they lived in a good house-- it was middle class and small-- but after her father's passing... her mother didn't work. They couldn't move, they'd lost everything to Katrina, so instead they found a home in the 9th ward. It was old, rotting, but Haven knew it was home so she treated it like a gift. Work was hard to come by, and Haven's mother hadn't really worked at all before-- but her mother had taught her to cook. So, with her mother, Haven sold bread and treats to the people of New Orleans. Of course, her mother's heart was always too large, and whenever someone couldn't afford a cake she gave it to them, free of charge.
They were not going to survive on that money. They lived on it for years-- when Haven was 13 her mother got a job at a bakery, but even that wasn't enough. So, Haven, in a little romper dress and a smile that told of innocence, found other work by the time she was 15. Drug dealing isn't an especially safe practice, but it was easy enough to find in the 9th ward, and she found it swiftly, made the friends she needed to make and set herself up for success. She met David at 15, he was kind and he told her to act younger than she was, to avoid getting caught. His tips worked-- she never did get stopped. He listened to her, as well, as the glint of a dreamer grew back in her eyes, even for a moment, when she talked of being a famous pastry chef or making cakes for everyone. Haven wanted to be like her mother, but she knew that was a far off dream. In this devastated New Orleans, it would take Years to heal-- people just didn't have money for cake. So, instead, she sold drugs.
Until David pulled her aside one day, and told her it was time she got out before it consumed her. He'd passed a roll of bills-- 2,000 dollars-- to her and, in secret, told her of his friend, a clean man, whom he'd gone to college with. "Cobailaville, Haven... go there, please. Get out-- my friend will give you work. He owns a bakery. Tell your mother, and leave. Call us from time to time, would you?" he said, and she followed his orders. She'd been 17, when she left New Orleans and found herself in Cobailaville.
Describe what happened on the open-house you attended that made your character take the plunge and become a tenant?
Haven's little space in the world smelled of sugar and coffee, and was above all loud. She didn't wake up to the sun, she woke up before it, because some people-- crazy people-- got their coffee before sunrise and didn't seem to care that Haven slept just above them. Of course, Haven didn't sleep much at all-- she went to the bakery at twelve, normally, because she worked until midnight making pastries, but she woke up at before sunrise anyway, because people downstairs wouldn't let her sleep. That was reason number one she needed a new home, the joy of sleeping late, aside from the obvious "my house is a disaster" part. The walls were chipped, the floor always felt like it was about to fall from under her, but it was a place to live. Temporary, that's what she always said, but she'd lived there for two years. The red-head groaned and rolled off of the bed, pulling her limbs backwards until they cracked, then she got up and got dressed. Haven always wore short skirts-- she liked them-- but today she traded that for a black top that ran almost to the sides of her knees, sunglasses, and ripped-up red pants. Her boots were old and broken, but at least they still had soles, so she slipped them on, brushed out her hair, and whisked herself downstairs.
"Hugo!" she yelled, once she reached the base of the staircase. Hugo was a short, stout man with an overgrown beard and joy in his eyes.
"Little harbor, what are you doing? You don't have work to-day" he said, laughter enunciating the back of his words.
"I'm going house hunting," she said, as she pulled a mille-feuille from the case and asked for Hugo's keys.
Haven had a half-working printer, but at least it printed out an address, and Hugo's car was small and sputtery, but at least it ran. In these conditions she found herself at the very top of a hill, staring at a very large building. Her round sunglasses covered her face, so she must have looked quite intimidating as she stood with one hand on her hip, blinking out at the building.
A woman came outside just then, and Haven walked quickly to greet her. Ms. Burns, that was what she introduced herself as. Pleasantries aside, she opened the door to the building and Haven stepped inside with her. The heels of Haven's boots clicked loudly on the wood floor, and what struck Haven first was how quiet it was. Nothing was ever quiet in the Cafe. Ms. Burns showed her around the first floor, and she almost didn't have to show Haven anymore-- the Kitchen alone was worth the Rent.
It was beautiful. There was a stove, a fridge, and all of that could be old, but there was enough storage and counter space for Haven to ignore even the rustiest of machines. She could imagine waking up and making breakfast, or perhaps making croissants or other pasties (Haven loved french pastries more than anything) and leaving them out,or just making eggs at noon for herself and whomever else wandered around at that time. She wondered if perhaps any other tenants would mind, as she ran her hand over the counters and inspected them. What appeared to be an ancient espresso machine sat in the corner, and with Ms. Burn's permission she turned it on and watched as it whirled to life. It wan't deeply unlike the machines at Cafe Hugo, and it worked flawlessly. It almost made her want to cry. She made a latte for herself and a coffee, cafe au lait, for Ms. Burns, and by the time they made their way upstairs the warmth of the coffee spread from her chest to her limbs.
The rooms were all quite tiny, but even the smaller rooms in the house-- the closets, even-- were bigger than the one-room apartment above Hugo's. Haven was used to waking to the sun or before it, so she found herself picking a room on the east side, with windows that faced out and offered a very good view, even if she planned on sleeping through it forever. Everything in the room appeared older than herself, and Haven loved that. She pulled at her shirt in the mirror and turned to the bed, smiling proudly.
"I'll take it, I think," she said, her voice like a ghost.
"There is also a... a basement, miss, if you want to--" Ms. Burns began, but Haven stopped her, shaking her head as she pressed her fingers into the headboard for the bed.
"I don't think I need to see it. I won't be down there often, right?" she said, and for a moment a look of relief passed over Ms. Burn's face, so quick she almost missed it, and then she was back to a professional facade as she got out the various contracts Haven would need to sign.
Later on in the day, Haven would give Hugo a hug-- the very first one in two years-- and tell him she'd finally found a home. She'd bake little gingerbread houses-- miniature ones, that she normally made on Christmas, and decorate them like the house on the hill. But, until then, she simply drank a cooling coffee and signed the contract, passing a few hundred dollars of the money in her bank account towards Ms. Burns. Even if Haven had only about two-thousand dollars left (Haven did her best to never dip below that number, feeling a significance to it after the first two-thousand from David) in her meager savings, she felt good about having a place to live, one that was perhaps real and would last.