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Island mystery/drama RP between The Tea Drinkers and Acerbus. Please do not post unless you are one of us xx Characters: Elowen Estelle Hawthorne Albert John Roosevelt Mongomery II Charlotte Winthrop Theodore Blackwood Vivienne Sinclair |
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Full Name Elowen Estelle Hawthorne Nicknames Ella, Wren -- Gender Female Pronouns She/her Sexuality Straight Moral Alignment Chaotic Neutral -- Temperament Elowen carries the quiet composure of someone who learned early that observation is safer than attention. Where others raised in wealth learn to command a room, Elowen learned to blend into its edges. She is soft-spoken, thoughtful, and perceptive in ways most people never realize until it is too late to hide their intentions. Her presence carries a gentle steadiness that puts people at ease. Conversations with her feel natural, unforced - the kind where secrets slip out before the speaker realizes how much they’ve revealed. Elowen rarely interrupts, rarely raises her voice, and almost never reacts verbally - only a slight raise of her brow or quirk of her lip indicates her feelings. She listens first. She processes second. Only then does she respond. Her patience is not passive, though. Beneath the calm surface lies a quietly formidable mind. Elowen has an instinct for deception - withheld truths, family secrets. She notices who sits too proper, who avoids discussions, who flinches at the mention of that name. Small facets that others may dismiss, Elowen stores, building a profile within her mind. She dislikes confrontation but will not avoid it. In conflict, her voice rarely rises above its natural calm. Instead, she dismantles arguments through quiet logic and unwavering conviction. She doesn't lash out, doesn't react harshly - just culminates the facts into a steady stream of logic. Despite her composure, Elowen is not immune to emotion. In fact, she feels deeply, though she shows it to very few. Her empathy is both her strength and vulnerability. She has a habit of carrying burdens that are not hers to bear, offering loyalty and support even when it costs her peace of mind. She is slow to trust others, but once she does, it's near-impossible to break it. Once someone earns a place in her life, she becomes completely devoted to their wellbeing. Her protectiveness manifests in staying long past what's required of her. Not allowing those she loves to pull away, refusing to let them leave no matter what occurs. Her greatest internal conflict lies between her natural kindness and her growing awareness of the darker truths surrounding the world she inhabits. Elowen wants to believe in the goodness of people, but experience has shown her how easily wealth and power can warp morality. Enneagram Type INTP People with the INTP personality type (Logicians) pride themselves on their unique perspective and vigorous intellect. They can’t help but puzzle over the mysteries of the universe – which may explain why some of the most influential philosophers and scientists of all time have been INTPs. People with this personality type tend to prefer solitude, as they can easily become immersed in their thoughts when they are left to their own devices. They are also incredibly creative and inventive, and they are not afraid to express their novel ways of thinking or to stand out from the crowd. Appearance Elowen stands at 5'7, her posture graceful and poised, but not rigid. She carries herself with a quiet elegance that seems effortless, as though she unconsciously moves with elegance. Her frame is slender but not fragile. Long limbs, narrow shoulders, and subtle muscle tone that suggests an active lifestyle. Her skin holds a pale golden tone that freckles easily in the sun, small constellations of light brown scattered across the bridge of her nose and shoulders. Her hair falls in soft waves to the middle of her back, a warm chestnut brown threaded with subtle strands of copper that catch the light. Most often, she allows it to hang down, loosely flowing in the warm island breeze. Elowen's face carries a softness that contrasts with the sharper features common among her family. Her cheekbones are gently defined, her jawline smooth rather than angular. Her lips are naturally full, a soft smile a permanent fixture. Her eyes are perhaps her most striking feature: a muted green-gray that seems to shift depending on the light. They hold a quiet intensity, as though she is always seeing slightly more than she lets on. In the warmer months Elowen favors flowing linen dresses, soft neutral tones, and light fabrics that move easily in the ocean breeze. Rich fabrics with no labels, no defining charateristics to mark a brand. When she ventures back to the continent during the colder months, she can be found in wool coats, skirts, and wool tights. She'll often bundle a scarf and hat around her head, unused to the chilling cold. The only piece she never changes is a delicate silver ring on her right hand, its swirling floral design old enough to suggest it has been passed down through generations. Voice & Accent Elowen speaks with a soft, polished New England accent shaped by years of private schooling and family tradition. Her voice carries a gentle warmth that draws people in, allows them to feel safe in her presence. When she grows passionate about something, her voice gains a strength it rarely holds. It never becomes loud, but the clarity of her conviction becomes unmistakable. Her words sharpen, her sentences become more exagerated, a brief view of the girl untainted by life. Strengths - Empathy - - Intuition - - Loyalty - - Intelligence - Weaknesses - Possessive - - Self-sacrificing - - Overly trusting - - Guilty - Backstory Elowen Hawthorne was born into a family whose wealth stretched quietly across generations, the sort of old money that rarely attracted attention yet seemed to exist everywhere at once. The Hawthorne family owned a small chain of historic coastal properties, shipping investments, and discreet holdings in several international firms. Their wealth was substantial but rarely flaunted; reputation, discretion, and legacy mattered far more than visible luxury. Elowen spent much of her childhood on the family's private island estate during the summer months. The island had been in the Hawthorne family for nearly a century, passed down through careful inheritance and protected fiercely by those who came before her. Unlike the imposing grandeur of many old estates, the island carried a quieter beauty - long stretches of beach, dense coastal forests, and weathered stone buildings that had endured just as she had. To Elowen, it was less a symbol of wealth and more a refuge from the expectations of the outside world. Her parents were not unkind, but they were distant in the quiet way common among their people. Affection existed, though it was rarely expressed openly. Emotional restraint was considered a form of dignity. As a result, Elowen grew up relying more on observation than conversation. She learned to read moods, anticipate tensions, and understand the unspoken dynamics between adults who believed children were too young to notice such things. Summers on the island introduced her to other families who shared the same traditions of inherited privilege. Some of these relationships became lifelong friendships. Others were defined by quiet rivalries and complicated expectations. One particular summer in her late teens changed the tone of those gatherings permanently. An event, unspoken among her family, that fractured friendships, strained alliances, and left questions no one seemed willing to answer. In the years that followed, visits to the island became less frequent. Elowen, the sole remaining member, took up a permanent residence in the haunted halls. Now older and far more perceptive than the adults who once underestimated her, Elowen has found herself torn between keeping the secret she has held so close, or allowing everything to unravel. Fears/Phobias Abandonment Dark ocean waters Betrayal Favourite Quote "The truth has a way of surfacing eventually. The ocean taught me that - no matter how deep something sinks, the tide always brings pieces of it back." Affiliations Albert John Roosevelt Mongomery II - "Birdie" Other "There is a particular kind of silence that exists in solitude. Not the comfortable kind - the kind that has the potential to ruin everything." - Elowen |
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Full Name Albert John Roosevelt Mongomery II Nicknames Jack (only for immediate family) Birdie (everyone else) Gender Male Personality Birdie is lazy swinging hammocks and summer afternoons on the lawn, remembering to put the milk in before the tea so it won’t scald. He is whipsmart, quick to laugh, and even quicker to break ties. He is ambitious, forever looking for the next opportunity to further his own career or ideals. Birdie is as flamboyant as his nickname, always the center of attention, and ever looking for a complement. On the flip side, if there was only one word to describe this young man, it would be reckless. He takes leaps of faith with the confidence of a skip down the lane. He is often pessimistic, and often volatile. So what if little orange bottles line his bathroom counter? He barely needs them anyways. His father said so. He is most often witty, but in a withdrawn, direct way, as if he is watching over everything, pulling strings like a master puppeteer. He has a dry sense of humor which his family despises, and is unafraid of hurting feelings. His greatest pleasure in life is his prowess in multiple sports: in the winter, hockey is his joy, in the summers he can be found on the tennis courts or honing his skills in lacrosse. His greatest fear is being forgotten, hence his willingness to make a name for himself. He doesn’t care why his name is remembered, but he refuses to be lost to time. Birdie is most at ease during his summers, when his parents are off in their own busy worlds, and he is sent off with other affluent families to romp away the warm days with friends, unsupervised and free as a bird. He hates to be one on one with his parents, family dinners are a trial that he wishes to avoid more than anything. He hates it when his father asks him what he plans to do with his life, and often replies with snarky, disrespectful answers that end with some privilege being revoked for a time. His soft spot is most definitely the family’s Golden Retriever, Byron, who travels everywhere with Birdie, and is his most dear companion. It is quite obvious the affection that he holds for the dog, but most know better than to bring it up to him and risk never speaking to him again. Appearance It took years for Birdie to grow out of his childhood baby fat, so for years he had the round cheeks and dimpled arms of a little one. To his delight, however, the lingering babyface disappeared into sculpted jawbones and haughty features of the proper standard. He is tall like his father, and will tell people he’s 6’2, though it’s far closer to simply 6’ than he’s willing to admit. Birdie is lean and long, all coiled tan muscles and flashing white teeth. His face is angular and sharp, with bright hazel eyes and a greek nose. He does not wear glasses nor contacts, because Mongomerys do not need any corrective lenses at all. Birdie is tan nearly all year round, but darker in the summer, when freckles appear to dot the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones. He is a little embarrassed of his summertime freckles, and if asked about them, denies their existence altogether.
His hair is a mess of blonde curls that he keeps long enough to tumble over his forehead and curve around his ears. Birdie will push it back dramatically, one of his features that he is most vain about. He is especially fond of leaving out one or two curls to fall neatly over his forehead. He prefers to dress as casually as he can, but often caves to societal pressure. Suits and linen outfits often hide away his preference for soft t-shirts and raggedy board shorts. Summers are his favorite, when his mother is not around to pester, and he will experiment more freely with his style. Devoutly Catholic, at least according to his family, Birdie will always be found with either a rosary or saint’s medallion, occasionally both, but always one. He has no known tattoos, but has been known to discuss them at great lengths. Voice & Accent Birdie has a slow, easy voice, warmer than he realises it is. He has the slightest Boston accent, which really only comes out on certain words or phrases. He has a confident tone, never wavering. Strengths -Confident- -Determined- -Charismatic- Weaknesses -Impulsive- -Sharp Temper- -Impatient- Backstory With a name passed down from his father and a long standing legacy to uphold, Birdie was born into the world of wildflower fields and gingerbread houses of Martha’s Vineyard. The only child of an affluent couple, much was expected of him from a young age. His childhood was one of woollen sweaters and brickrow homes. His first memory is of playing chess with his father by the fireplace, trying to understand the strategy and rules at his young age. At seven, he was shipped off to St. Sebastian’s, a Catholic Boarding School for Young Men. Each school year was spent there, learning his catechisms, practicing arithmetic, and learning to get along with the other boys. His favorite parts were being allowed to play sports, and his talent in them was recognized early on.
Summers were spent with friends, his mother and father always off on business ventures, only sending him the occasional letter.
His nickname, Birdie, stemmed mostly from his flamboyance and chatter, reminding his classmates of the birds and their ceaseless calls. It was only solidified when he tried to introduce himself as Bertie, hoping to not have to be called Albert in the school. Favourite Quote “I’m the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life.” -Holden Caulfield Affiliations Other ❤︎ |
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Elowen wrung her hands nervously as she paced the expanse of the welcome foyer. The house was pristine - not a speck of dust in sight, each carpet pressed to perfection, the tassles laid out at a perfect ninety degree angle. She had removed the furniture covers days ago, had vacuumed each piece at least three times. Everything needed to be perfect. Smoothing her dress, she frowned at the faint droning hum of a boat approaching. It wasn't that she didn't want to see her friends - quite the opposite, she was beyond thrilled for human interaction - but she hadn't allowed anybody to set foot on the island in nearly five years. Even her parents, despite her mother's protest, hadn't dared try to visit her in her reclusion. She was content to be alone. Elowen had always been one to stick to the shadows, hiding in the corners and observing the interactions of her peers. Though she knew she was well-respected, though she knew she could connect with nearly any she spoke to, she still chose to remain alone. There had been a time, once, where she revelled in the aristocratic meetings her parents attended. Balls, galas, parties, all thrown between the elite - all a place to observe with her friends, to watch as they flourished into the roles they had been destined to fulfill. She could still remember leaning against the walls, smiling as Theodore and Charlotte charmed and tricked their way into family deals. Running around the deserted halls after the event had concluded, gathering all the details she had missed from her perch on the sidelines. Her friends would tell her stories of the night, of how they swindled each and every investor, how they secured another sum. Afterwards, they would retreat to one of their homes, drinking the night away with stolen bottles their parents would never notice missing. It had been so long since she had enjoyed life to such an extent. Summers in her circle were often spent with another family - business had to be dealt with, of course, but the children were free to traipse around whichever estate they were inhabiting. Of course she was biased, but Elowen's favorite summers had always been spent at Hawthorne Estate. A small island, nestled in the northern reaches of the Caribbean, she thought it perfect. The beaches were small, enclosed by cliffs of greenery that beckoned her to the jungle beyond. Around the estate, a dense swath of trees decorated the interior of the island, housing droves of colorful birds that sang each morning. The estate itself was lovely beyond compare - elegant spires reached towards the sky, the Victorian style mansion branching into tens of smaller buildings and courts, each holding secrets even she did not know. There was so much history on the estate. She could feel it in her bones, in her soul, each time she came back to the island for a summer. Could feel the call of mystery, of tales long untold. Could feel the sense of home that she had never felt on the continent. Five years, she had resided on the island. She left ocassionally, to deal with family business, or to stockpile supplies she didn't feel like ordering in bulk. Elowen had discovered herself fairly self-sufficient after she had sent the staff away. She wasn't sure what had changed - wasn't sure if she had changed. But something had told her it was time to let the past go, to rekindle the bonds she had nearly forgotten about. She missed her friends dearly. They were all doing well, of course, and she knew they had attempted to reach her at one time or another throughout the years. It was her own fault she had allowed this separation to go on for so long. The approaching boat drew ever closer, it's engine nearly drowning out the sound of the lapping waves. She had no choice now, couldn't back out of her decision, couldn't decide that she preferred the solitude any longer. Once more, she looked over the foyer, ensuring everything was set to perfection before plastering a tense smile on her face. There was no butler to open the door, no maid to greet her incoming guests. Elowen had wanted to be alone, and her smile faltered slightly as she worried about the thoughts her friends would have. It was unheard of for a woman of her standing to have no help - she would need to explain it somehow, piece together enough of a coherent thought to string a story that sounded almost believable, that didn't make her sound like she had been on the verge of a breakdown for half a decade. Her eyes slid to the small cabinet next to the mantle, and without a second thought, Elowen found herself wrenching the doors open, grabbing a bottle without looking at the label. She took a healthy drag, then another, and one more for certainty before returning it to its home. The familiar buzzing that enveloped her throat comforted her as she slowly wound her way back to the doors. Swinging them open, she felt her smile loosen slightly as she took in the sight that greeted her - the bags, the bustling crew, and that oh-so familiar face she had nearly forgotten in her escape. |
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Birdie knew better than to impose on someone's hospitality, he really did. Social expectations were something that had been long impressed into his young mind, and were now all but habit to follow. And yet, here he was, bringing along an extra guest. It wouldn't have been that much work to send a text, or perhaps get the staff back at his own home to reach out the staff at the island. It would be alright, he told himself. It was summer. Nothing could go wrong, nothing would be awkward. The wind was pleasant against the sun beating down, someone's playlist blasted Johnny Cash, and he was finally free from his own personal purgatory. The boat rocked, waves slapped against the hull, and Birdie eyed Theodore, who had all but insisted that he drive the boat. It was tradition, and one that Birdie didn't push back against. Sometimes, a little bit of normality would be okay, even if it meant risking seasickness on the first day. The flight down had been long enough already, sandwiched between Vivienne and Holden on someone's private jet. He couldn't remember whose it was anymore. It didn't really matter anyways. The champagne had been flat. Birdie slung his arm over the edge of the boat, feeling the cool water run between his fingers. Somewhere, a seagull called. Summers had always been his sanctuary. Most affluent families didn't have time for their spawn until they were old enough to be important as pawns or business partners, which was a gift, really. Birdie loved being shipped off to sprawling summer homes where he could run through woods, or splash into salty waves. It was if the weight of life was lifted for those brief three months, and he adored it. Personally, his favorite was going to the Winthrop's summer estate. Martha's Vineyard was his second home, and it was close enough to St. Sebastian's that he was practically guaranteed to see some of the boys from school. That meant one more for tea, but also one more for tennis, for games, for the inevitable parties. Everything had become infinitely more amusing to the group once they were older. Little siblings became less interesting, and nipping alcohol and laughing in the corner of galas became the goal. Nothing was better than once the adults had cleared out, or they were considered old enough to left alone, and secrets were spilled like diamonds over a velvet backdrop. Birdie himself was given essentially free rein no matter what, but summers made it more illicit, more daring. The boat roared up to the pier, and Birdie hauled himself up, stepping up onto the wooden structure. Ever the gentleman, he reached down to help the girls up, and chattered with the boys as they handed up the bags. One thing he'd learned about this group was that *no one* packed light. He didn't, that was for sure. There were two large forest green bags with his initials embroidered on them, and the many bags packed into the back certainly gave the impression that everyone else had also brought an extra change of clothes or two. With a grimace, he wondered briefly if he'd remembered to bring the little orange pill bottles that always sat in his bathroom, but then Holden was jostling up beside him, asking what sleeping arrangements would be, and the thought drifted away to the back of his mind. He was surprised that no staff was hustling down to the pier to help carry up all the luggage, but the boys were gracious, and hauled up the heavier of the bags, leaving the ladies their purses and hat boxes. The house loomed above them, crouching on a higher point of the island. He supposed it must have been for the winter storms that often flooded the islands surrounding. In the back of his mind, he almost wished it were back in the familiar streets of Massachusetts, but sacrifices must be made. Really, having everyone back together again would be an adventure anyway. In the past few years, it had dwindled to a smaller group, then only a few of them, and then Birdie had spent the last summer with Holden on a European art tour. When everyone's schedule had aligned enough to allow for it, plans had formed quickly, bags were packed, and here they all were. And of course, there were the dogs. All but a staple for their summer adventures, the canines were a given. Birdie had ensured that Byron had been settled, and Charlotte had brought her Beagle. Holden had considered bringing his own Retriever, but had ultimately decided against it, which Birdie privately had been relieved for. He was sure that at some point, one of Theodore's many hounds would make an appearance, and less than five dogs would already be a nuisance no doubt. The dogs tore off across the island, sniffing and stretching out travel-weary limbs. The girls were already walking up the path, waving and calling up to Elowen, and the boys trooped up after, laden with bags and gifts. Birdie was ready to change into his suit and get down to the waves, but he knew that some amount of pleasantries must first be exchanged, and he too joined in the joyous calls as they made their way up to the door. |
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Elowen found her smile melting into something of genuine happiness as she waved at the familiar faces now making their way up the steps. Charlotte, her beautiful blonde curls bouncing in the wind, let out a screaming giggle as she barreled into Elowen's awaiting hug, her warmth seeping deep into Elowen's bones. "Hello, you lovely woman!" Charlotte chirped as she pulled away, holding Elowen at arm's length to give her a thorough once over. "You look as ravishing as ever, I must say. The island sun has certainly treated you well." Elowen beamed at her friend, the ice around her heart quickly chipping away. "It's so good to see you, Char. I'm sorry it's been so long, it's just..." Elowen waved a hand dismissively, thankful that her friend nodded in solemn understanding. "Anyways, welcome back! I've cleaned everything in preparation, the pantry is stocked, and I made sure to gather your favorite drink." Charlotte trilled in excitement again before bouncing past Elowen into the house, her small carry-on purse bouncing against her waist. Theodore crested the stairs next, his dark curls already matted to his forehead from the beating sun. Elowen smiled warmly at him, faint butterflies echoing in her stomach as he grabbed her hand to press a gentle kiss to the skin. Theodore had always been her favorite - soft-spoken, well mannered, and as gentlemanly as one could be. They had been far closer in their youth than the others, and Elowen would forever see Theodore as her rock, someone she could anchor to in the toughest of storms. The two stared at each other for a moment, Theodore's grip still firm on her hand. She wasn't sure what to say, mouth opening and closing as she stared at the man who had been her best friend in another life. Luckily, she was saved by Vivienne flouncing up the steps, tsking at her bag Theodore had briefly discarded on the ground. Sheepish, he pressed one more chaste kiss to Elowen's hand before letting go. "Theodore, Vivienne, it's so lovely to see you both," Elowen beamed, looking at her friends with an appraising glance. "I'm sure Charlotte hasn't gotten too terribly far, if you'd like to catch up to her? I'll be in as soon as Birdie shows up." Vivienne and Theodore shared a look that Elowen couldn't decipher, faint grimaces on both of their faces. With a slight nod, Vivienne turned to Elowen, patting her arm softly before slipping into the manor. Theodore offered her a small smile, though it didn't quite reach his face as he began to haul the bags into the house. "It's lovely to see you, too, Ella. We'll talk later tonight. Meet you on the roof at midnight?" Theodore looked hopeful, and Elowen couldn't stop the blush that rose to her cheeks as she nodded at him. As Theodore's footsteps faded into the estate, Elowen turned to find the final head of hair climbing to the stop of the stairs, blonde curls achingly familiar despite the now-grown face beneath them. If she hadn't known what he looked like from the tabloids, Elowen might not have recognized Birdie, he had changed so much. She was about to offer a greeting when another head popped up next to his, the boy at his side almost familiar. Had she seen him in a tabloid? She would have scoured them all, had she known her friend was bringing another. Her spine stiffened, hands clasping in front of her to stifle their nervous fidgeting. Elowen didn't do well with strangers - didn't like them imposing on her home. Why hadn't Birdie told her he was coming? She watched the two approach, eyes darting between them, watching them interact as they hauled the remainder of the bags up. Finally, just before it would be considered rude, she spoke. "Hello, Birdie. I hope your travels were well. Who's this?" Her voice was sharper than she would have liked, the edge cutting into the air between them. She winced slightly, letting her shoulders drop, but did not let her guard down. He knew how she felt about outsiders - knew she didn't like allowing strangers to see her at her most vulnerable. It wasn't wise to let those you didn't know into your space. They had all been taught that notion from a young age, and each of her friends knew how seriously she took the sentiment. Why would he bring someone so foreign into their safe haven? |
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Birdie smiled broadly, unwilling to let the beginning of his summer be spoiled thanks to his tagalong companion. He flicked the blond curls from where they were falling into his eyes, and adjusted a bag that weighed heavily on his shoulder to lean forward to offer her a cheerful side hug. "This is Holden. He goes to St. Sebastian's too. I'm sure you've heard me singing his praises for years now, Ella Darling. He had no where else to go, and I simply knew you wouldn't mind." He knew the words were somewhat passive aggressive, but he really couldn't be bothered to be irritable or quarrel so early on. He carefully eased past her with continued cheerful excuses, and followed Vivienne's flashing heels up the nearest staircase. Her largest couture bags had happened to be the ones he'd picked up from the back of the boat, and he was starting to wonder why she'd felt the need to bring, as it seemed from how heavy they were, cinder blocks and steel bars. Holden trailed behind him, and Birdie cuffed his shoulder affectionately. "It'll be fun, don't worry. I can tell you're getting all in your head about it. They already love you. Charlie's already obsessed, I promise." It was true, too. On the boat, Charlotte had seemed rather keen to keep both eyes firmly on the frowning brunette beside him. Birdie didn't understand most of the things that went on in any of the girls' minds, but was more than willing to be a wingman for his mostly unsuspecting classmate. A breeze ruffled his curls as he paused on the landing, and he grinned as the scent of the sea washed over him again. Birdie sent Holden to the room on the very far end of the hall, where, if memory served, an empty room stood. All that really mattered was that it wasn't someone's beloved childhood sanctuary. He tried to briefly explain what he remembered of the layout of the house, but Holden didn't seem to be listening that intently anyways, and passed him by easily. He took the last few stairs in a long stride, wandering after Vivienne into one of the guest rooms, and couldn't help but laugh. The rooms had been selected in childhood, designed to a T by the eight year old group. Vivienne had been firmly in a pink and puffy princess phase, and the sheer canopy draped over the bed was rather reminiscent of a veil. Vivienne only pouted at him as Birdie settled her bags near the pristine white vanity, tossing her silky curls. "Promise I'm not making fun of you, Viv," he said, a hint of a laugh in his voice, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. "Does this mean I can start calling you Princess again? Or do you still prefer Angel Darling?" Vivienne shooed him out, and he finished the tramp down the hall to his own room. He was glad he'd gone with a rather simpler theme than ballerina chic, or whatever the blonde would try to convince him it was. He'd opted for light blue and white striped walls, a more nautical theme than anything else. His favorite part of the whole room, however, was the ceiling. It was painted to look like the sky, as if when you threw yourself down on the soft rug, and stared up, that it was always a bright summer's day in *his* sky. He tossed his bags into the corner, deciding whether unpacking or stretching his legs sounded more amusing. While he pondered, he threw open the windows, letting light and fresh air fill the room, and stuck his head out, gazing over the lush gardens that sprawled out from where the house crouched. The summer feeling was already getting to him, and he decided that moving shirts from his bags to the drawers of his bureau could wait, and, leaving his door wide open as tradition stated, went back to bother the group. Theodore seemed quite invested in becoming a regular homebody in his room, and Birdie had little patience for helping with checking the sheets for tight, neat corners, and studying every old photograph and map on the walls, so he passed by with only a sunny hello. He didn't even bother to look in on Charlotte once he saw Vivienne's door still open, and he larked back in to sprawl over her bed. "And however shall we be kicking off our summer escapades? Shall we collect everyone for a dip? Don't make faces, Viv, please. I'll help you brush out your hair after. Or I won't even splash you." |
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"Pompous ass," Elowen muttered under her breath as she shadowed the two boys into her home. She allowed them to their own devices, veering off to the cabinet by the mantle once more to grab her bottle before stomping into her own room, the door closing louder than she had wished. She could hear the bustle of her friends above her, each of them settling into their rooms - she hadn't touched them other than to clean, figuring they could all use a bit of nostalgia. If they wanted to change anything, the group knew they had free reign. Her own room had been changed countless times over the years - she could never quite settle on a theme for more than a year or two. The walls were now a deep blue, with golden accents thrown about the room. It reminded her of the sky on a cloudless night, the sconces on the walls reminiscent of the stars that twinkled so far above. She snorted to herself as she spun in a circle, remembering the vibrant yellows and greens that had previously adorned the space. Elowen wasn't one to shy away from the words "it's just a phase," having had many in her lifetime. Two years ago, she had thought she needed some brightness in her life. Nevermind the fact that it hurt her eyes every morning. No, the dark colors were much more fitting, wrapping her in their warmth instead of burning her corneas. Vivienne's giggles bounced down the stairs, and Elowen peeked out of her room long enough to see the two girls dashing to the pool, translucent coverups billowing behind them. She couldn't help but smile at the sight, memories of such a similar scene flitting through her mind. Of them, so much younger, prancing through the house to grab whatever fruity drinks were on hand before lounging at the poolside until the sun disappeared. Elowen slipped into her closet, quickly throwing on her swimsuit and wrapping a towel around her waist. Closing her door behind her - much softer now - Elowen made her way up the stairs, throwing a cautious glance at Birdie and his companion - Holden - as she passed. She wasn't sure how to feel about the newcomer, still wary of his presence in her home. He didn't seem too bad, despite her reservations. His face was kind, and though he hadn't yet spoken to her, she could see the lingering need for reassurance in his gaze. With a small frown, she paused, almost turning around to speak to the duo, but decided better of it. Their retreating footsteps told her they would be at the pool - somewhere she hoped to be soon. Knocking before pushing softly on the door, Elowen smiled brightly at Theodore, his swim trunks low on his waist and a towel thrown over his shoulder. He grinned at her, and Elowen couldn't help but blush as his eyes roamed over her figure. "You look divine as always, Ella," Theodore commented, taking a small step closer to her. She laughed at the way he suggestively wriggled his eyebrows before holding a hand out to him. "I suppose you look decent," she replied, and though he rolled his eyes, he took her hand with a gentle squeeze. As the two made their way down the stairs, Theodore allowed her to lead the way before dropping her hand in place of wrapping an arm around her shoulders. They had always been this way - nothing more than best friends in front of the others, but neither could deny the spark that still ran between them from time to time. Theodore wasn't someone she would commit to, couldn't see herself building a cozy picket-fence home with him or raising children with him. But she loved him, and he loved her, and that had always been enough. It had always been enough. Sure, he had spent his fair share of time with Vivienne and Charlotte, but Elowen could never be jealous - had never felt that possessive spark over him, that desire to claim him as her own. They were comfortable, and she was okay with that. Vivienne's lilting laugh twirled through the air as they approached, Elowen quickly tossing her towel to the side before slowly dipping her toes into the pool. Theodore wandered over to the gazebo, typing away at something on his phone, and Elowen couldn't miss the suggestive look Charlotte threw at her. She shrugged, shaking her head with a devious smile before taking one last step and diving under the water. |
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Darkseeker
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It had been far easier than Birdie expected to coax Vivienne into going swimming with him, and when she went off to see if she could wear one of Charlotte's bikinis, he went back to his own room to change. The breeze rustled the many pictures tacked up on the wall by his bed, and he paused to study them for a while. While reminiscing was rarely something he enjoyed, this was different. This was like a warm fire on a nippy evening while the rain pattered outside: familiar and soothing. A sleepy sort of love that never withered. Most of the pictures were very old, even back to tiny Birdie in a bright orange lifejacket, his mother stooping down to steady him against the waves crashing on the beach. It seemed so long ago that his parents had still chaperoned him on his summer larks, that they claimed he still needed to be supervised. As the pictures continued along the wall, he got progressively older, sometimes on the New Jersey beaches with his family, sometimes at some friend's manor. In many of them, he was accompanied by the very group that was currently changing to go romp the island. It seemed so odd that they'd lost touch for so long, and it was good to be back together. He grabbed the top swimsuit from his bag, half-distracted as out the window he watched the girls running down to the pool. On the outside, Charlotte and Vivienne really couldn't look any more different, at least to Birdie. Their appearances were one thing, but their attitudes were another. He was honestly surprised that they were as close as they were with how they acted. Viv was sharp-tongued and haughty, the perfect picture of New England beauty. Charlotte was far gentler, and seemed to have an overwhelming pool of empathy for anyone she passed. Birdie distinctly remembered a time after a party when he'd held a sobbing Charlotte, who had informed him that she saw an elderly woman sitting alone. He had been caught off guard by the way she so comfortably wore her heart on her sleeve, like no one could possibly fault her for it. And yet the girls meshed perfectly, it seemed. They rarely argued in front of him, and if they did, it was over some trivial thing that they were laughing about five minutes later. He loved watching them interact, like there wasn't a care in the world when they were together. Vivienne had pulled off her cover-up, and flaunted her curves as she slipped into the pool, and Birdie smirked as he went down the stairs, cutting across the lawn rather than following the winding path. Viv was his girl, always had been. It was all but expected that he had started chasing her once they were old enough that the opposite gender was no longer something to make fun of, and he'd taken on his duty without complaint. Viv *liked* the chase more than anything, really. She wanted to be wanted, and Birdie was more than happy to spoil her, tease her, and hold her close when the darkness of her mind got too loud, too close to the glittering persona she let everyone else see. And she did the same in return. He walked down the steps of the pool, going over to the girl. She had her curls tied up, not wanting to let the chlorine touch them, and Birdie was careful not to splash her as he leaned against the side of the pool beside her. "Angel," he asked sweetly after a pause, "How upset with me would you be if I got your hair wet?" Vivienne looked entirely unimpressed, and threatened his life, so he decided that it was an overwhelming yes, and tackled her down into the deeper end of the pool with a shout. She pushed him under to get up, and he came up spluttering but ever the optimist. "See, love? It's not so warm now. I'll put sunscreen on your nose," he offered. "I'll get you a beer to make up for it. Ella Darling, walk with me, will you? I need to fetch a drink for her Royal Highness, and I want to discuss this summer's specific whimsical adventures I insist we partake in." Clam bakes were a tradition, and he was sure there were others that had slipped his mind. He knew Ella would remember, she always seemed to be able to bring up memories that were a fleeting shadow in the back of his own mind. |
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Spring Month: 2 
Night 
Clear Moon: 
