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Post by Deleted on Oct 18, 2019 20:33:59 GMT[/b] Library Clerk Residence: Margret's family owns several remote acres in a heavily wooded area of the Country Homes. Age: 20 Height: 5’6 Weight: 112lbs Hair Color: Black Eye Color: Brown Sexual Orientation: Lesbian Notable features: She has a really terrible sigil of baphomet tattoo below her right buttcheek that one of her friends did when she was 14. [/ul] PERSONALITY Dislikes: being told what to do, mirrors, horror movies, doctor visits, social media, the idea of not being self sufficient Strengths: Confident, honest to a fault, propulsive, creative Weaknesses: emotional, impulsive, rebellious, and just a hair entitled Playlist General personality: If you take a crumpled up piece of paper and smooth out all the creases, that's sort of what Margret is like. The meds flatten her out. The crinkles are still there, though, in small moments of clarity where glimmers of the lively young woman still shine through. Like an echo or a ghost. Whatever happened to Margret out in the woods that night on her eighteenth birthday changed her. And if it wasn't what happened out there, it was the year of being locked away in rehab and being told she was psychotic and that things she remembered happening never actually happened. Once upon a time Margret was different. The kind of girl to not take anyone's shit. To get in trouble and laugh in their face. She did what she wanted, when she wanted to do it, and thought very little of the consequences. A daring adrenaline junkie with a penchant for leadership. Before the party, before everything changed, Margret was quite cool in that way that was effortless. She exuded that confidence that could only genuinely come from deep within. However, she could be intimidating. She could be argumentative, tenacious, and she certainly made enemies with that outspoken devil-may-care attitude. She reveled in the occult, the spooky, and weird. She liked misfits but didn't mind the dichotomy of those en vogue either. People usually either loved her or hated her. Wanted to be like her or wanted to see her crash and burn. The later are likely rather pleased at her current state. Margret today doesn't fight. In all sense of the word she has shut down, recoiled, and become a recluse. She doesn't talk to the people she once called friends. Not even to her friends back home in New York. Ever since she came back to Sweetwater, her medication had stopped working, leaving the young woman in a constant state of dissociative panic with no-one to confide in. [/ul] HISTORY Years in Sweetwater: 4 Family Members: Alana, Mother, Artist/Painter, 48 Alana frequently visits NYC as well as other cities for exhibits. She's actually a fairly accomplished artist and a well known name in the art world, but Margret kind of thinks she sucks and her art isn't deep at all. Peter, Father, developer evangelist, 52 Peter travels internationally on a weekly basis for the tech company he works for, a huge conglomerate that started up as a small but niche startup that took off a few years ago. He is rarely home. Her parents have an open relationship and belong to a swingers club. General History: T/W mention of drug reference/use, mental health issues Some say Margret fell down a k-hole and never made it fully out. Some even whisper that her parents subjected her to horrific abuse. Sometimes there's no reason given- one day, she just woke up, and was snapped away from reality. When Margret moved from Brooklyn to Sweetwater at sixteen she was less than happy to be ripped from her home and the filthy city streets that she and friends had scampered around like weedy teenage urbanite rats with less than adequate adult supervision. It had been her Mother's quest to find some sort of solace and her obsession with tall spindly trees or whatever - that had drawn the small yuppie family of three (four if you include Margret's hairless cat, Phillip) to the rural landscape. It was stupid. Central Park had plenty of trees and was only a subway ride away. But in her Mother's quest for nirvana, they packed up and moved from their cramped Brooklyn apartment to a practically ancient Tudor styled home that was entirely too big, dusty, and quite frankly kind of spooky. It sat on 10 acres surrounded by beautiful dense evergreen and maple trees and the estate itself was incredibly private. Behind the house was a greenhouse styled enclosure that her Mother would convert to an art studio, and her Father unearthed peace of mind in the impressive floor-to-wall lined bookshelves of the home's study. Margret got the attic, like the afterthought she felt she had become in this entire move, her parents thought it a lovely idea to renovate and give their daughter her own teenage sanctuary where she could smoke weed and listen to thrash metal to her hearts content without shattering their divine agrarian fantasy. Margret started school at Sweetwater high and found herself wrapped up in a novelty of popularity for the first few weeks. See also: the token city girl. People were nice, and seeing as Margret was actually pretty dang cool, she got along well with her classmates despite missing her token rebel chic girl gang from back home. But the town was weird. This place, her home, and even the people were a little... odd. In slight, subtle ways. Just enough to make her feel uncomfortable, but to also maybe think it was just all in her head. Subtle enough to make Margret swallow her intuition and shove it in a dark place in the back of her mind and laugh at it off when tourists rolled into town looking for Big Foot and Moth Man. Restful nights were the first thing to go. Bad dreams about curious shadows penduluming over her bed and sitting awake in that attic staring into the dark. Sometimes she would wake to her name, heard just at the brink between sleeping and wakefulness. Sometimes it was just a soft Hello, ethereal and spectral through the white curtains of a breaking dawn. Not at all unfriendly just... there. Crescent moons bore deep into her eyes and while Margret didn't have the best grades to begin with, she suffered in places even in subjects she had once enjoyed, like literature. But Margret was a strong girl, unafraid of anything and certainly didn't believe any of it was real. Or didn't want to admit it. If she ignored it long enough, maybe it would go away. Or didn't want people to think she was losing it, most importantly, because going nuts in the real world, while romanticized in teenage dramas, was anything but cool. Then she was losing time. Not just a little bit, either. One moment she would be eating breakfast and the next she would be waist-deep in one of the rivers that ran off the surrounding mountains with no recollection of how she had gotten there... with the sun setting. Easily, an 8 hour gap, miles away from home. Her parents got calls from the school. Detentions, then suspensions. Accusations of drugs- which, like, yeah- there were, but not once had drugs chipped away at huge portions of her life like this. This was something different. What once were stern scoldings turned into all out shrieking matches between her and her Father (at this time, Alana had decidedly taken a vow of silence, so she could only offer disapproving scowls). People talked and blamed her parents. Blamed their liberal parenting style. They looked to Margret with pleading eyes asking where they went wrong. Margret didn't have an answer. She never had really been a good kid, but a massive disappointment? Then it was during a party when both her parents were out of town for her eighteenth birthday. Margret invited everyone she knew, bored to tears after months of punishment confined to that stupid house. In the backyard she stoked a massive fire pit where her classmates would drink and smoke and move like the electrified slithery hormonal eels that they were, and Margret would wander off for a moment of clarity between quaking shots of Cuervo as her stomach threatened to regurgitate the evening. Not even twenty feet into the woods, she disappeared. - "Margret?" She shifted her gaze slowly from the window, dark eyes set on the sixty-something year old man sitting behind an antique executive desk. It was her sixty third doctors visit and therapy session. Just over a year. She had gotten out of rehab only thirteen weeks ago after a year of herculean work and several failed medications. Finally, they had landed on something that worked. Maybe the meds made her feel a little distant, but they kept her level. "Sorry, I was just thinking about-" a pause. The girl in front of the doctor held little resemblance to Margret from a year ago. She was softer, fragile, and yielding. "About that night," the doctor followed up, removing his glasses. "I know you said I didn't go anywhere, even though I felt like I did," she started, watching as he picked up his pen and wrote something down. Once upon a time Margret would have said something antagonistic. "And I believe you. I just have been trying to remember what I took or what happened, maybe I fell or my drink was spiked or-" The beeper on his desk went off, cutting Margret off mid-sentence. Out of time. The doctor flourished his fountain pen with one wide stroke and ripped a piece of paper away from his pad, passing it across to the young adult. Blankly she accepted the paper. "I'm upping your clozapine. I'll see you next week Margret. We can talk then," he spoke candidly, though Margret didn't doubt his frustrations. She brought it up every week, like a skipping record, concicular and obsessive. She lowered her gaze and folded the script over between her fingers before nodding her head. "Right, ok, see you next week." - Being home in Sweetwater was difficult at first. Most of her old friends ignored her. Sometimes Margret wondered if she just wasn't likable sober. Or maybe it was the medicine that flattened her out, turned the world gray and her mind into that of a space cadet. She lived her life, but it wasn't living. Margret just... existed. She walked. She worked. She ate, and took her medicine. Sleep. Woke up. Ate. Medicine. Nod her head. Don't talk. Don't talk about what happened, because her parents would send her away again. Nod your head. Don't ask questions. Just accept it. This was her life now. Of course, it was all still there. The moment Margret came back to Sweetwater everything continued, just as it had before. [/ul] OOC Discord ID: critter#8099 Other Characters: Tag: critter [/ul][/blockquote] |
| UPDATES |
03.2023 | WELCOME BACK! Hello friends old and new! I'm so excited to welcome you all back to SITW! I've made some changes to the plot and added the ability to play supernatural charcaters! So come and check it out! I can't wait to jump back into this little town with all of you!
