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Age: 20
Country: United States

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August 14, 2018


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02/05/2020 10:13 PM 

[OWWP: Shame]

OWWP:Shamewww.roleplayer.me/dorkknight
Steph hated this. She knew where this was going, and she wanted to leave.
But every time the topic of family came up in the friend group, Stephanie always found a way to weasel her way out of the conversation. This time, as if they wanted to stop that, they brought it up in a moving vehicle (as if jumping from the car wasn't something Steph would do to avoid, well, anything she didn't want to do, really. But that's a different story). "Ok, but, really. What's the deal with your dad, Steph? Honestly."
Jordanna twists from her seat in the front to look back at her, resting her chin across her arm, along the back of the head rest. In a drawn out pause, in which Steph collected her thoughts, hand wandering to the car door, the idea of a tuck and roll more and more appealing, she sighs slowly.
"He was a criminal-" 'with a psychological tick that made him leave clues behind after his crimes, but he got cured of that, not the crime part thought, nono, rehabilitation only works so much, that used me as a pawn in his schemes, tried killing me repeatedly, killed dozens of people, faked his death several times now, was behind all the sh*t that went down at the college a little while back to try and make me 'better' at my job because he 'made' me what I am-' "-with an ugly orange costume who's dead now-" 'totally not sitting in Blackgate right this second, absoluetly not planning some new bullsh*t to f*** with me.'
Jordanna frowned, saying nothing, as Steph rolled the window up and down absently. Francisco speaks softly. "Hey, my dad isn't great either… but he's still my dad…" "There's a difference between gambling debt and being a murderer who uses their child as a bargaining piece to try to make Batman and Robin do his dirty work, god damn it." Slamming her fist into the door panel, sitting up stiffly, Stephanie snaps. They sit in silence for a moment, in which Steph hangs her head, running her hands through her hair, clearing her throat, and sniffing sharply. "Listen, can we just, not talk about my dad ever again, please? I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of. But nothing brings me more… just, skin crawling shame like carrying his name…"
’There's room in our line of work for hope, too.’

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