NAME: Lily Frankenstein BIRTH NAME: Brona Croft NICKNAMES: Bride of Frankenstein, Merry murderess of east end, The pale lady, La Dame Blanche, The woman in black, Her that makes men bleed, Mother of Mayhem, Little flower, Miss F, Man slayer, Murder queen ALIAS(ES): Yerma AGE: 27 - Immortal BORN: 1862 DECEASED: 1891 SPECIES: Resurrected human SIGNIFICANT OTHER: Klaus Mikaelson FATHER: Unknown MOTHER: Unknown SIBLINGS: Unknown OTHER FAMILY: Unknown CHILDREN: Sarah Croft 🕇 BIRTHPLACE: Belfast, Co. Antrim, Ireland CURRENT RESIDENCE: London, England EYE COLOUR: Brown/Yellow hued HAIR COLOUR: Blond
HEIGHT: 5 feet 2 inches - 157 cm WEIGHT: 50kg or 110.3 lb SKIN TONE: Pale/porcelain PAST OCCUPATION(S): Factory worker, prostitute CURRENT OCCUPATION: None PREVIOUS RELIGION: Catholic CURRENT RELIGION: Atheist
Relationship
Name: Status: Link: Met: Song Dedication[s]: "Title" by Band
Comments:
PERSONALITY
Traits: Info Here
Quirks: Info Here
Likes: Info Here
Dislikes: Info Here
Strengths: Info Here
Weaknesses: Info Here
RISE UP
My doomed, keening women... shall we be immortal? Shall we sing from the gallows? We must have faith, we must have strength and commitment, we must be bloody or n o t h i n g else! And now you must prove your commitment to our great cause. Go now... every one of you; rise up. RISE UP! Go into those dark streets you know so well, those foul alleys and secret back lanes and find me a bad man! A faithless husband, a cruel lover, a rich despot, a scrofulous john fucking some girl just like you and quick with the back of his hand while he's at it. Find him and bring me his right hand! Cut it off and hold it bleeding to your breast! Bring it here, fling it on this table and we shall sing out OUR joy!
SOMETHING
SOMETHING: Info Here
SOMETHING:Info Here
SOMETHING: Info Here
SOMETHING: Info Here
NEVER AGAIN
We flatter our men with our pain. We bow before them. We make ourselves dolls for their amusement. We lose our dignity in corsets and high shoes and gossip and the slavery of marriage. And our reward for this service? The back of the hand... the face turned to the pillow. The bloody aching cunt as you force us onto your beds to take your fat heaving bodies! You drag us into the alleys, my lad, and cram yourselves into our mouths for two bob... when you're not beating us senseless! When we're not bloody from the eyes and the mouth and the ass and the cunt! Never again will I kneel to any man... now they shall kneel to me.
Darling Doctor
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Dorian Gray
Dorian Gray
ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Aenean sed urna. Integer nulla purus, tempor vel, vestibulum id, ullamcorper id, sapien. Nulla facilisi. Sed tempus. Fusce metus. Curabitur rhoncus fringilla ligula. Ut euismod justo at elit. Quisque in massa. Nullam ut justo. Donec a diam. Ut nec sapien in velit ultricies adipiscing. Duis fermentum justo sed arcu dapibus ultrices. Proin semper, quam a semper egestas, tellus ligula sagittis ipsum, nec condimentum enim neque quis lectus. Fusce consectetuer, lacus vitae laoreet viverra. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Aenean sed urna. Integer nulla purus, tempor vel, vestibulum id, ullamcorper id, sapien. Nulla facilisi. Sed tempus. Fusce metus. Curabitur rhoncus fringilla ligula. Ut euismod justo at elit. Quisque in massa. Nullam ut justo. Donec a diam. Ut nec sapien in velit ultricies adipiscing. Duis fermentum justo sed arcu dapibus ultrices. Proin semper, quam a semper egestas, tellus ligula sagittis ipsum, nec condimentum enim neque quis lectus. Fusce consectetuer, lacus vitae laoreet viverra. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Aenean sed urna. Integer nulla purus, tempor vel, vestibulum id, ullamcorper id, sapien. Nulla facilisi. Sed tempus. Fusce metus. Curabitur rhoncus fringilla ligula. Ut euismod justo at elit. Quisque in massa. Nullam ut justo. Donec a diam. Ut nec sapien in velit ultricies adipiscing. Duis fermentum justo sed arcu dapibus ultrices. Proin semper, quam a semper egestas, tellus ligula sagittis ipsum, nec condimentum enim neque quis lectus. Fusce consectetuer, lacus vitae laoreet viverra.
The Creature
It's watching you. It sees you!
ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Aenean sed urna. Integer nulla purus, tempor vel, vestibulum id, ullamcorper id, sapien. Nulla facilisi. Sed tempus. Fusce metus. Curabitur rhoncus fringilla ligula. Ut euismod justo at elit. Quisque in massa. Nullam ut justo. Donec a diam. Ut nec sapien in velit ultricies adipiscing. Duis fermentum justo sed arcu dapibus ultrices. Proin semper, quam a semper egestas, tellus ligula sagittis ipsum, nec condimentum enim neque quis lectus. Fusce consectetuer, lacus vitae laoreet viverra. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Aenean sed urna. Integer nulla purus, tempor vel, vestibulum id, ullamcorper id, sapien. Nulla facilisi. Sed tempus. Fusce metus. Curabitur rhoncus fringilla ligula. Ut euismod justo at elit. Quisque in massa. Nullam ut justo. Donec a diam. Ut nec sapien in velit ultricies adipiscing. Duis fermentum justo sed arcu dapibus ultrices. Proin semper, quam a semper egestas, tellus ligula sagittis ipsum, nec condimentum enim neque quis lectus. Fusce consectetuer, lacus vitae laoreet viverra. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Aenean sed urna. Integer nulla purus, tempor vel, vestibulum id, ullamcorper id, sapien. Nulla facilisi. Sed tempus. Fusce metus. Curabitur rhoncus fringilla ligula. Ut euismod justo at elit. Quisque in massa. Nullam ut justo. Donec a diam. Ut nec sapien in velit ultricies adipiscing. Duis fermentum justo sed arcu dapibus ultrices. Proin semper, quam a semper egestas, tellus ligula sagittis ipsum, nec condimentum enim neque quis lectus. Fusce consectetuer, lacus vitae laoreet viverra.
There was no egress in sight— not even a sliver of an illumination at the end of an atramentous tunnel; as he was now evidently the sacrificial lamb in someone else’s ceaseless scheme of retribution. All men, right?… the intonation of her voice haunted him in the depths of each night tide, susurrations wafted through the dusty particles, that brimmed the air around him. He couldn’t ascertain, whether it was her, in actuality, tormenting him, relishing in another twisted game of control— or it was his boisterous, dishevelled mind, that was deluding him.
There was zero eschewal of what his mind had to u t t e r to him, swathed in this eerie stillness. Usually, when enshrouded in these tenebrosity abyss of his spirits, he would resort to his vices— usquebaugh; laudanum and it had become more tolerable, withal he possessed no such thing here — the sole thing that was staring back at him was his own reflection in the thousand of mirrors that embellished these wraithlike walls. Old blemishes adorned phalanges, old injuries — from when he catapulted balled fist into these looking glasses in a fruitless attempt to demolish them. Even if fractured— his reflection was still boring holes into him— staring, speaking to him. It was solely a smashed image of himself now; but it didn’t alter anything for him. He coveted to feel, as if he didn’t recognise himself within the monstrousness of it all, but the most trist part about this, was that — he did. He descried himself in a l l the broken pieces of the mirror. All the atrocities and the repercussions that clung onto his body like a death’s embrace. This was who he was. What had become of him.
Blunt nails had even begun to bore its way into his flesh; as if he desired to crawl out of his own skin and if it was at all possible, he would have achieved such by now. Dried vestiges of claret etched into his countenance. Dust, dirt and mud veiling his entire form. His death wish had never been as vigorous, as it was right in this instance. He would’ve never envisioned, that he would be de novo encompassed in something that resembled a tunnel; precipitating his shell-shocked mind, cannonade him right back into the time back in France. He couldn’t even burrow his way out— he had to suffer through this and that was what coerced him to the precipice of his sanity. He needed to try and regain control of the situation once more. He couldn’t perish like that. not here.
Even supposing that the hollow muscle, that its only task was to pump blood through his system— was seized by the vice-like grip the devil had obtained upon it— he could still feel everything and even in the midst of his own bedlam and the hell that he architected— he did harbour deep sentiments for the ones around him. But his evil deeds didn’t necessarily attach weight to that, right? If anything, it only proved how everything he did, stemmed from egoistical criterions and his unquenchable thirst for omnipotence. More, more, more… was it ever enough for a man like him? Would he ever stop?
He failed to convince himself to ingurgitate even a morsel of the meals that she had proffered to him in this dimly-lit, wretched gaol. He was aware she would take offence to it— as she took offence to practically everything in regard to him. The only thing that bound these two together, was their mutual rancour they harboured towards each other. Albeit, the brummie was in no position to clamour his grievances with the aspect of her as an individual. It would only further doom him into the claws of her unrelenting urge to crush him like a delicate flower.
It was no secret, that it submerged her with gratification upon perceiving him incant the blues of his spirits, for it seeped out of her every pore; and she wore such an achievement like a gilded emblem. She had him right, where she had coveted him to be.
He could barely make her out from the umbrage that she was engulfed by, as she infiltrated the makeshift cage, for men like him. Her inquiry sliced through the thick tension that beguiled the non-existent air, capered around his abalone and permeated his tympanums; as a product of that, the hair at the back of his neck stood on end; shoulders rolled upwards, as if to drown out the sound of her evocative voice. Was he not satisfied with his lodgings, she asked— she wasn’t done taunting him, even supposing that there was not a modicum of fight left within the Shelby. He would relent, for he could not spend another minuscule of a minute here. She lit three candles— the golden illumination adumbrated her form and permitted him an ephemeral sense of tranquility. He was scarcely present— mentally. His b a r r e n, sombre-laden hues diverted upwards to meet hers; he sucked in a deep breath through his mouth; and floundered over towards her.
Stood before her— he ingurgitated around an impassable lump that had resided within his gorge for d a y s now— adam’s apple bobbing, as he did so. His mouth felt like bloody sandpaper and he coveted a glass of w a t e r, whiskey— anything to get rid of that vexing sensation.
“What makes you think I’m anything like that man? You know as well as me that I do not like my own f***in’ reflection. Please—“ A hand elongated to direct it towards the only egress of this hellhole. He was pleading; remorseful, on pins and needles to be let out of his cage. Approaching her like a dog, that tucked in its tail in— he repented long enough, right? “Let me out, let me go home, I’ll do whatever you want me to do, just…let me out of here, please.” A tremor-wrecked respiration flowed through the hallows of his chapped kissers; and he meant every utterance that had departed from his mouth, for he would do anything to endow her with whatever she would require of him to do.
In fact, Rase used the hunting knife for a goodly amount of tasks, and surprising only to him, it’d become the one he favored. He rarely went anywhere without it—it was the proper size for skinning an animal, and for cutting meats to roast over a spit while he was on the road. It was also the right size to fit exactly between the eye sockets of an Infected that was coming for his throat (had to make sure to clean it off well afterwards, of course). It fit comfortably in his palm whether used for his meals or in a combative way, and he liked the way it felt strapped to his belt.
Bottom line: Just because some woman in a bar in some non-descript settlement wanted it, didn’t mean he was just going to hand it over to her.
She was odd, he’d give her that much. Her dress seemed like something straight from another era (for this planet anyways), and her eyes were not like human’s typical eyes. Maybe that’s why the lounge cleared out so quickly, perhaps the patrons thought they were looking at a ghost or an apparition—she certainly was pale enough to look otherworldly. Rase didn’t scare so easily though, he’d seen much over his 38 years, and done much more than what it may appear. He’d been to planets in other galaxies, seen creatures with intelligence greater than humans, or much less than. There were plenty of species in this universe that would cause awe and fear in others, and he'd had the privilege of having his eyes opened to such. Not much scared him, fear was beat out of him by the time he was 12 years old.
So this woman’s tawny eyes and ghostly presence couldn’t frighten him. Rase had seen too much to be scared by such trivial matters.
She wanted the blade, she wove a tale about taking hands with it, taking the lives of men specifically—that didn’t get a startle out of him either. It was the grandest folly of men to feel safer than they should because their opponent appeared inferior or weaker. He could sense the aura of danger that wove itself tightly around this woman, if that is even what she was. He’d no doubt she used to be a woman, but now? Maybe now she was much more than that.
He chuckled and leaned back in his seat before taking the blade up by the handle and giving it a twirl, if only to show how easily it’d become an extension of his own arm. “If I am to believe your story about owning the blade to begin with, then I suppose I feel a bit sorry that you have such an attachment to it. Small world isn’t it? That something you felt was lost to you suddenly ends up close enough for you to snatch it up again. I suppose it’s serendipitous, in a way.”
“But just because you have the misfortune of losing something, doesn’t mean it’s still yours if you find it again. You lost it, Ma’am. I traded for it fair and square some time ago, and like I said, I’m rather attached to it now. Without the right weapon in this day and age, you’re only destining yourself to a timely death.” Then he leaned forward again, looking at her a bit more seriously as he sheathed the knife in his belt again. “Just because you want it, doesn’t mean I have to give it to you. I’m sure you’ve made do since then, found other things by now to carve out your victims with. You’ve done well without it, and you’ll continue to do well without it.”
He stood up then, his eyes carefully regarding her, “You can issue me veiled threats all you’d like to, that doesn’t bother me: I will leave Danford with all the possessions I came here with, including the blade. I will leave if and whenever I please to—and you won’t stop me. You can’t stop me.” He paused before adding, “Now I’m not much of a talker and the hour is getting late.” He inclined his chin toward the woman, “Good luck with . . . well—good luck.”
Rase hasn’t stayed alive this long by underestimating an opponent often, but perhaps he needs to concede that he may have underestimated this petite woman—especially after the events that play out after he slides away from the bar top and finds a seat with his drink elsewhere.
He knows better than to sit with his back to her in the very least, and as he takes a seat in a spot where he instinctively knows he can view the whole bar and no one can sneak up behind him, he finally gets a better look at her and realizes there’s something is very unique about her. His sharp onyx hues narrow on her, and he realizes her attire is unusual, especially for the trying times of the current modern world. The bleak, black sweep of her dress immediately is wrong to him, as much as women liked to wear dresses, that is very much a thing of the past—try running from a horde of infected in a ballgown, you’d be the first to go down.
The second thing he notices is the porcelain of her skin, unusually pale and pallid, even for one that hides inside, afraid of what might become of them if they step out into the sun. He realizes it, and the people of the tavern realize it as she abruptly orders them all to leave.
They all do, everyone except for him.
Did they know something about her that he didn’t? Why were they so afraid of her? Or was it that she somehow had power over this place and these people? Rase has been to this settlement before and didn’t recall ever seeing her, however he knew how things could change in a matter of days in these uncertain times.
He wasn’t afraid of her, more curious of what it is she could possibly want with him and why she couldn’t find a weapon of her own without trying to snatch his. He isn’t used to people approaching him like this, mostly because he knew the sight of him alone worked to intimidate most men, women, and children. Add a bit of road grime from the constant travels and a bit of spent zombie blood on his jacket that he hadn’t had a chance to get out yet, he didn’t look at all like the type that should be approached on a whim.
Yet here she was, clearing out a whole bar to do just that.
“Was that really necessary?” He murmured smoothly and might’ve said more, but she was sliding into the seat across from him and skipping right over pleasantries as she demanded where he got the blade she’d just been trying to snatch from the holster around his waistline.
He regarded her quietly for a couple long moments, and though he didn’t sense that she was about to leap up and attack him at the slightest provocation, his corded muscles were tense and he was alert to any slight movements she might make. He wouldn’t underestimate her again, he didn’t know what she was capable of, but looks were always deceiving.
The hunting blade she was interested in was nothing fancy, but it was of a good make and had served Rase well on the trail, both with killing infected and with cutting up meats to roast over an open fire for his supper. It did have some unique engravings on its hilt, ones he’d puzzled at every now and then, wondering who’d put them there and what they meant—but that was all. It was nothing but a weapon to him, though that wasn’t to say he didn’t have an attachment to it, it was hard to find reliable weapons, people were reticent to give up anything they had that could protect them against threats of all shapes and sizes.
“Oh, this old thing?” He unsheathed it and placed it carefully down in the middle of the table horizontally on its side. His gaze never left her face as he did so, watching carefully to see what she might do or for any minute changes to her features, “You could’ve just asked me instead of making a grab for it—that sort of thing could’ve given you one less hand that I’m sure you’ve a need to keep.”
Then he continues on in the next breath, “Traded goods for it about a year back, at a settlement a couple states over. Didn’t get no backstory, didn’t ask for one: it just looked like a reliable tool and I had a need for one exactly like it.” He paused then, his hues narrowing ever so slightly on her ghostly features, “Does it mean something to you? It’s the only knife like it that I’ve got, I won’t just give it to you. I need it.”
