darialys

[darialys]

deidiavoli​:

It was the voice of the fellow Foxes assassin that made Nadia smirk even more, the ruby lipstick she had on showing off the very playful nature of Nadia James. When she saw the other blonde, a girl she had known for quite some time - almost all of her life, she shrugged and rolled her eyes. “I should’ve known a fellow one would be here tonight. I’m surprised my sweet Lav hasn’t come. I’ll have to text him later. Mm, this champagne is one of his favorites. What do you think, darling Daria?” Nadia extended the champagne bottle to her, sitting down on one of the VIP couches with a much assured smirk. “Tell me. Anyone at this party currently an easy target for more stealing purposes? I could really use another nice bottle of something expensive, hmm? I’ll share.” 

“Your ‘sweet Lav’ is a pain in my ass. Don’t invite him, he’s annoying me,” she grumbled, snatching up the bottle by its neck, though she adjusted her handling and tilted her glass just so before getting the perfect pour--even her annoyance wouldn’t rob her of that.The pomegranate seeds that had settled at the bottle fizzled back to life, floating up to the top with the bubbles that tickled her upper lip. “Delicious,” she purred, extending the glass for a well-mannered ‘cheers.’ “And expensive. будьмо!” 

“Tonight should be an easy night. Everyone’s drinking and no one’s paying attention. See if you can snag us some Stoli’s. Or if you’re looking for a challenge, I’ve seen some really nice watches, wallets, jackets… purses… boyfriends. I’ll take whatever you could steal. If you can get the vodka, try for the cranberry too. I like a splash of color.” 

[darialys]

Sipping on her champagne, Daria could feel herself actively staving off the bitterness that threatened. If she let it in, it would ruin the rest of her night, each drink turning her sulky and depressed instead of carefree and loose. New Year’s Eve was a stupid holiday in her book--a night to be spent with family and friends, of which she was in short supply. But she’d never pass up an opportunity for a cute outfit. Tonight she wore a sheer mini dress with matching ruched gloves and a sequined vintage bag that she’d traded her watch for on the street once. She was just about to fish through it for her cigarettes when she caught a familiar flash of blonde out of the corner of her eye. No one else seemed to notice Nadia expertly swipe the bottle and if they did, she’d infused the theft with such confidence that they thought nothing of it. 

“Naughty, naughty,” Daria chided, her eyes trained straight ahead as she finished off her drink, though her smirk betrayed her. "I’d hide my purse if it didn’t make the outfit. Give me some of that.” 

location: house of dion time: 11:50 pm 

Nadia James did love a good party, and what was a better party than New Years Eve in Las Vegas? It was one of her favorite times of year - the lights, the bustling, the hustle of people trying to find out how to get drunk six ways to Sunday. Nadia herself enjoyed a good drink and having fun at a little place like House of Dion was just one of her little traditions. She could get all dolled up, properly, for a speakeasy and have her own kind of fun by the end of the night. Going through a busy casino and bar area, she had swiped a champagne bottle, a rather large one, and with a smirk, she noticed someone looking over at her as she tried to open it down the bar. It was bustling with people - no one had even blinked or noticed. 

“Would you like to lend a hand, darling? I’m sure I could share a swig or two if you can even open it. We can toast to the brand new year - that’s what is proper, right?” A ruby red smirk looked the person up and down. “By the looks of you, love, you need it.” 

[darialys]

[darialys]

Born to Be Bad (1934) dir. Lowell Sherman

[darialys]

sibelbosnck​:

&

Sibel had not been thrown by the choice of venue for the first date. Vicky’s was fun, as she had been here before with friends from the hospital and the dancers were much more talented than Sibel could ever hope to be. But, the date had turned out to be quite the asshole. He’d spent more time ogling the waitress and trying to get a private dance. After only an hour, Sibel had had enough and got up, leaving him. She had been tempted to just walk out, but she wanted to drink a little more. Making her way closer to the bar, she sat down next  to a gorgeous blonde and eyed some of the dancers. That was the last time she went on a blind date. 

“They are, and very talented. I could never dance like that.” Some days Sibel was sure she was born with two left feet. The accent was foreign, but it caught her attention because it reminded her of the man she met at the party with a similar one. The same man who along with others had been taken from the hospital to somewhere with private treatment. When Sibel had finally returned to work, recovering from her own bout of poisoning, she heard all about it. Only the comment of her wearing ostrich feathers pulled her from her thoughts. “If I had feathers around my neck, I’d look like I should be on stage too.” Sibel chuckled. 

Daria’s lips stretched to a smile as she eyed the brunette. “Oh, you could.” But the dancers chose that moment to up the ante, incorporating some fan kicks and technical choreography in with their poised strutting. “Well, maybe not exactly like that,” she revised, squinting critically at a woman’s ruffle-clad bum pointing right in their direction, judging not her figure but the extension of her arch, or lack-thereof. “But drink a little more, loosen up and you could do most of that. That kind of dancing is just confidence. You put on the little costume, the rouge, the lipstick and you become your most sensual self.” 

Daria had given it a whirl once--had donned a costume of her own creation and graced the stage, if only to say she’d done it. And while she appreciated the attention, it hadn’t been the empowering debut she’d imagined. The stage felt more like a microscope, everyone looking down on her instead of the other way around. She’d decided it wasn’t for her, not at this venue at least, with its sea of competing dancers and leering men. “Life is a stage. We should always be ready,” she declared sagely, though a private smile crept out, letting her in on the bit. She may be notoriously dramatic, but she wasn’t a complete caricature. “Not a great night, huh?” 

[darialys]

la-sangradura​:

“We weren’t,” Lav said, Russian concealing just enough from those who knew their native tongue if they wanted to listen in. “We weren’t worthy. We didn’t balance power, we didn’t care for who was ready. We believed in out dated shifts of power to little boys and girls who only ever knew how to balance a crown on their heads. Oleksander was one of those, and his father before him. Using your power to get what you want, to waste the skills of those trained under oath, to chase feuds sought over bar counters, who you found in your wife’s bed, who cheated you in a game of clobyosh when you need it because you’ve spent all your money on bets… that isn’t power at all. It’s a child’s messy clean up. It’s a fucking tantrum, and I assure you that everyone who puts those whines into action are tired of being babysitters.”

It was a daunting confession on behalf of someone who had their name, who had grown up sneaking under tables at the family’s grand events and only stuck their head out when truths of their crimes were unveiled. So many had deemed him ungrateful for what the family had done for him. Aleksandru Lysytsya had been one of their best assassins until he found a woe he’d rather drown with a bottle than silence with a bullet. He had been pawned off his son the care of cousins, family friends, and even bar owners as long as it meant someone had an eye on him. Many, the better of the bunch Lav liked to think, had decided that the best way to handle another child was to make use of him, busy him with work that they knew required skills that were passed down in his bloodline. He was a quick study, an instinct for survival already ground into his bones. He had stayed at the lower ranks as another means of staying alive. He had seen every shift in power, the bodies that fell like flies by his own hand. Lav didn’t need it to feel whole, or prove a point. Being able to have a purpose and see it fall into place was enough of a reward to him as long as he had a moment to reflect upon it with a drunken grin. 

He sighed, the bottle that typically graced the counter whenever he sat on one of the stools opened with a pop and pouring over into another glass to share. 

“I do what needs to be done when I am asked, and I only speak up when there is risk that should be avoided.” Lav said though it was a matter of fact where he switched back to Ukrainian and out. “Other than that, I do what I’m told and it keeps me out of trouble. I do not go out of my way to be recognized. I do my best, but I do not exceed expectations. What would be need otherwise? For power? I do not want power. I never have. I only ever gave into it to help those who needed it to be yielded correctly. You can only have so much to protect you before it turns into target on your back. I won’t deny if it I’m given some, but I don’t go looking for it. Ambition was wielded poorly in this family, and quite frankly, it takes too much time and effort now. I’ve always been happy being soldier. I did not step down until someone worthy and someone bold, as you say, came along. We did not have anyone else in our family like that left who had not been raised believing it was a right instead of a privilege to be that way.”

“What is ‘worthy?’ And who are you to decide it?” He was irritating her now and she wore it plain as day on her face as she chewed down on the inside of her cheek. “You’re hardly the poster child for the moral high ground.” Her gaze lifted to his slowly, letting the blow land with a pointed stare. It took the edge off a bit, the anger boiling into steam and dissipating with the small release. She’d feel shitty about it later but for now it felt like a small victory. 

“I just don’t get what your goal is, Lav,” she admitted, following him seamlessly into Ukrainian. “You benefited from the family’s reputation too. Being a Lysytsya used to mean something. Even when I didn’t know what I meant, I knew the mere mention of our name carried a great deal of respect. Fear. Power. Now what? We’re nothing. And for what? For the good of the Foxes? We are the foxes.” She barely spared the waiter a glance as she took a sip of her champagne.

“Was it revenge?” Her voice lowered at the question, her gaze avoiding shifting to her surroundings--it’d look too suspicious. “I’ve heard that said, you know. That you embroiled the family in all this conflict, took away our power because of how they treated you.” Her face softened at that, a bit of concern seeping into her expression as her eyes flicked back and forth between his. “Because I could respect that. Really, I could. But you could’ve ruled from the sidelines, Lav. There were options. You didn’t need any of the power. I just don’t get why you gave up your seat and especially to someone I can barely respect.”  

[darialys]

Charlie’s Angels (2000) dir. McG

[darialys]

nevernevadastella​:

“Yeah, uh, never really been the type of person to go out all on my outfits,”  Stella lets out a chuckle as she looks down at her clothes. Being a creature of habit, nothing really changed, even when she was out for a few drinks. She was sporting her infamous leather jacket, dark washed jeans, and a white tank top. Nothing truly special at all about it. “I don’t know if feathers would look good with what I am wearing, would hate for it to fuck with my jacket. I’m not really into the glitch and glamour that this city brings.”

“Well, it shows,” she deadpanned with barely concealed distaste, letting a bit of an accent slip. It masked some of the rudeness or, at the very least, repackaged it as European and exotic. But really, who didn’t like glitz and glamour? “You definitely live in the wrong place.” Her eyes did a pointed scan of the room, silently gesturing to the lights and sparkles saturating the place. “What brought you to Las Vegas?” 

[darialys]

la-sangradura​:

He plucked the cigarette from her mouth and claiming it as his own. He leaned back in the chair against the bar, legs folded over the other as he mimicked her entire entity. Lavrentii’s first responsibilities to their family had been rooted in that ability, the way he could mirror behavior. He was a quick study, his faults buried with books and language outside of their Slavic tongue. Any small tilt Daria gave him, he leaned the same way. It was an act that had gone through many stages, from learning how to be poise after growing up playing hopscotch in a living room filled with broken glass from empty bottles and mocking for the sake of a drunken laugh. Other times, like these, it was a challenge. It was a small scratch against whoever was before him, that he knew not just the path they walked but how they walked it and how easily it could be followed—how easily he could play at her jab.

It was a small shift, his boyish behavior still ever green within him. The liquor was passing his lips at the same rate of consumption. He rolled his shoulders, a small shrug at her suggestion. He spoke softer than he had, mimicking his notorious careless attitude despite a body language that spoke louder about the severity of her pass at him.

“I would not be a very good Zrobyv Lyundnu if I was busying trained killers with one night stand clean ups. Do you agree?” He asked, careful to place every article between his words and shorten his vowels where he could. 

Then, he softened. He had to. Lavrentii was still gaging just how far the affairs of the Foxes went with Daria. Yes, she was a Lysytsya and despite her mother’s attempts, this had been a birthright at some point. But now? The Lysytsyas were nothing but novelty and he could only believe that his cousin was still comfortable in that security. 

 He leaned back, cigarette returned to her and replaced with a toothpick as he spoke. “I would not be able to get naked on Vick-ee’s stage and dance if I was Zrobyv Lyundnu. That is what happened and why I only had feather fan. Not very fun.”

Her eyes narrowed, as if she might squint through his easy charm. It was easy to remember he didn’t have a traditional Lysytsya upbringing. Not the way she did--with everything served on a golden platter, no request too outlandish, no demand ignored and no shortage of people watching her back. He reminded her with every embittered jab through their childhoods that they were not the same. But it was easy to forget that, for all the drama and passing around, he was raised with perhaps more of their family influence than anyone. Where she was coddled and tucked away, he got the brunt of their inadvertent training, both adept in not only physical warfare but the far more important psychological. Where Daria was just learning to play the game, Lav had been a reigning champion for years. Still, she was fine with people underestimating her. It’d be her best shot at getting the upper hand one day. 

His mask was good; it was difficult to tell if her jab hit home, though the marked change in his tone turned so casual it couldn’t be anything but carefully forced. “You wouldn’t have time for all these one night stands. You have too much time now because what you’re doing doesn’t challenge you. Your skills are being wasted.” Her eyes flicked to someone nearby, perhaps a bit too close for her to speak so candidly. In the next breath she switched to Russian, so smoothly that if you’d be listening in, it might’ve taken a moment to realize. “Am I so vain for thinking our family should matter? Why shouldn’t we stay on the proverbial throne? Do you think other people who climb to the top are thinking about checks and balances, limiting power? Do you think they’re going to graciously step down when it’s time? This isn’t a democracy. You take power and you hold it until someone else comes along worthy and bold enough to take it for herself.” Her eyebrow quirked at him as she downed the last of her martini, flagging the bartender over in a wave. “Or himself.”

“And you’re wrong.” She spoke english this time, any trace of her accent gone. “If you were Zrobyv Lyundnu you could do anything you wanted. Remember?” Her shoulders loosened a bit as her cigarette found its way back home between her fingers, then between her lips as she took a deep drag. “But no matter. Another round, cousin?” 

[darialys]

la-sangradura​:

Lav looked down at his clothes. He wasn’t as flashy as their cousins, but he wasn’t quite sure any of them would have been able to pull off feathers. The only exception he could think of was Daria herself. She was the only face of theirs that could lay on a painting, on some editorial, and not look like the shadows in the image were hiding something. Daria was always emerging. She was concealed from their world, but truly, for the better. 

“I have tried,” He admitted, his accent slipping into its native language with ease in her presence. “The feathers. I still have some around apartment here, there, everywhere. It is worse than the glitter. It sits in air. You sit down and oof! There is feather up in air, on pillow case, on face. I went once once with feather fan because… well, maybe we do not discuss where clothes went. There isn’t much to discuss because I do not know where it went.”

It was calming to discuss the simpler parts of their world. The outer shell of it all was something he couldn’t focus on as of late, and small moments like this he enjoyed that he could still have it. It was sobering, but in a way that he didn’t mind. There was still a realm outside of the Foxes, one where the Lysytsyas were still a family and where they weren’t always invincible. 

Her lip curled, a feline grin over the rim of her cocktail as she caught her cousin’s eye in sidelong glance. “Feather fan? What were you doing with a feather fan?” Daria didn’t have much of an accent--she’d spent most of her childhood in the states, but being around Lav seemed to pull the rolled ‘r’s and long ‘aws’ right out of her. “Perhaps you should hop on that stage, Lavrusha. I didn’t realize we have another artist in the family.” 

Her nose scrunched, the only acknowledgment in her deadpan delivery that she was joking, although she would’ve been just as happy to pose it as a challenge. The toxic Lysytsya family dynamics had always tainted their relationship and, while the Sin City seemed to be ironing out some long standing wrinkles, there would always be ‘sibling’ rivalry that kept them competing. The same rivalry that prompted her to test the waters. “If you were still Zrobyv Lyundnu you could hire someone to clean up after all your feather fans.” 

This time she didn’t look away. Her icy eyes studied him, never straying as she fished through her bag for a pack of cigarettes. One was between her lips and flickering to life in seconds, smoke curling through the air and disappearing into the haze. If someone had a problem with it, they’d tell her, she rationalized; the major flaw in that logic being anyone who knew who she was wouldn’t enforce the rules and anyone who did bother would get a cold shoulder and feigned foreign misunderstanding. 

[darialys]

[darialys]

Location: Vicky’s  Open: 

Bohemia was easy when money wasn’t an object. In New York Daria had tried every artistic pursuit that crossed her path--book-binding with a blind man from Iceland, screen printing with a student of Warhol, traditional Kirigami with her Japanese roommate, embroidery with a guy who sewed ‘live, laugh, jizz’ onto his back pocket, ice-sculpture, hair braiding, beading, cake decorating, comedy. Not dancing though, she mused as she watched the burlesque show with the sharp eye of a critic. She’d left dancing back in Ukraine after she begged her mother to let her quit. But now, admiring the glamorous costumes, lush with sparkles and feathers and swaying and glittering under the dim lights with the dancers’ hypnotic movements she wondered if she might try it out again. 

“Very beautiful, no?” she asked the person beside her, not even sparing them a glance as she took a sip of her martini. “I think we should all wear more of um... the ostrich. Ostrich feathers.” She punctuated this with a sweeping hand motion, a bit of a dance in itself. “Even your outfit, for example.” Her eyes flicked to them this time, though only barely. “‘s very simple. Imagine some beautiful plumes of feathers at the shoulders or by the neck. This is Las Vegas. If there’s any place to shed ‘simple,’ it’s here.” 

[darialys]

Everyone suspects DARYNA PAVLIVNA LYSYTSYA of at least one of the cardinal sins, but in Nevada, the worst sins are bound by blood and this is HERS: THE FOXES. SHE rolled the dice FOUR YEARS ago. Under the desert sun, they claim the act of ARTIST. They’re often mistaken for SASHA LUSS before those crimson colored glasses slide down their nose. DARIA better get busy living, or they’ll get busy dying by the ripe age of TWENTY-NINE. There are no second acts in a marked life, and it’s measured out by the melody of BLUE MONDAY by NEW ORDER.

hi everyone! i’m lyndsay and this is daria. she can be a bit tempestuous but shhhh just give her a lil time. there’s a tldr at the bottom!!! looking forward to plotting with everyone!

Background:

Daryna came into the world on an unseasonably cold day, red faced and screaming like a banshee. She was defiant from that very moment, refusing to feed and managing to contort her little face into a scowl that had the nurses chuckling. Her mother simply laughed along with them, pinching those chubby cheeks and holding her daughter to her chest until she softened and that frown slipped away as sleep took over.

Her family started calling her ‘Kholodnaya,’ insisting the weather seeped into her bones that day she was born, though her mother disagreed. ‘She’s not ice. She’s fire.” Larysa was always so willing to see the best in her eldest and Daria blossomed under her praise. Others critiqued her short temper while Larysa spoke of the beauty of a passionate soul. People told Daria she was too outspoken but her mother reminded them that there was bravery in tackling confrontation head-on--that honesty was a virtue. Her mother was her biggest cheerleader and made sure she never wanted for anything. And she didn’t. All she had to do was ask and her family delivered, no questions asked. Every opportunity was afforded to her and she took full advantage. She travelled as often as she could, mostly between Ukraine, Russia and Vegas but she’d developed a fondness for the Maldives, Italy and Switzerland. When she decided she wanted to move back to New York City and live a life surrounded by the arts, she was plunked down in a brownstone that the family had invested in as soon as their wealth started snowballing, though she visited her mother as frequently as she could.  

Everything changed when her mother was killed.

Her entire world was shattered, and while it affected her whole family, she couldn’t imagine anyone understood her pain. It was dangerous to be in New York at that time. It was way too easy to numb her feelings, and she did, anyway she could.

Things started coming to light after that. Things she’d never officially realized. From a young age she was taught not to ask too many questions--a feat for such an inquisitive mind. She knew they had money, she knew her family was powerful but she had no idea why or how. It wasn’t talked about, not in front of her, and if she caught a whisper it was accompanied with a stern warning. And who would question such a luxurious lifestyle? She thought they were just a close knit, fiercely loyal family with maybe a slightly intense affinity for guns and a streak of fatal bad luck. But the deaths--her mother’s death wasn’t just bad luck. She was murdered.

Daria resented her family after that. Resented the gilded cage they’d kept her in, the ignorance that denied her a proper goodbye, and the gifts she’d accepted in exchange for her unwitting loyalty and silence. If they thought she was cold before it was nothing compared to the person she became. For a time she cut them off completely, though not without difficulty. After becoming so used to a lifestyle made possible only with their blood money, functioning without it was a challenge. Especially when she was spending so much on vices that kept her afloat. Thus began her downward spiral.

Time passed in a blur of lights, pills, powders, and sex. Sometimes she painted--pictures with heavy-handed brushstrokes and stark contrasts, heavy in blacks and reds. Sometimes she wrote and wrote and wrote, never reading anything back--if it sounded as pretentious as it felt, she couldn’t bear to face it. Sometimes when she wasn’t too strung out she found herself on a runway or posing for photographs at the hands of her friends who insisted she was perfect for this job or that. She couldn’t remember much of it, though it all felt incredibly dark and glamorous and angsty and just as exciting as it was hopeless.

When the well ran dry, her family insisted she move to Las Vegas to be with them and without a penny to her name, she had no choice but to oblige. It wasn’t a huge adjustment and tensions felt higher than ever, but something about being back in town, surrounded by her native tongue made her feel close to her mother again. She chose to make the best of it, immersing herself in the city--which fortunately, meant giving up very little of the bad habits she’d picked up--and immersing herself in her family. And the love they always had for her mother now showered down on her, though it still sometimes made her flinch. When she demanded they tell her everything, they relented.

It took a while, but trust has been steadily rebuilding and Daria’s even taken the family mark. She has yet to complete initiation and isn’t sure she will, not after what her uncles have told her. But she is loyal to the Foxes and has, mostly, forgiven them for the role they played in her mother’s murder. For now she is content turning that anger on their enemies and allowing her family to treat her like the printsessa she used to be--but this time, on her terms.

Personality:

Daria has always been defiant. She hates rules, hates authority, and hates being told what to do. Bribery was her family’s greatest tool in handling that. She’s nosy and inquisitive and nothing escapes her notice--part of the reason she’s such a talented artist. She sees things that other people might overlook, a skill she’s always used for her own self-preservation but has started putting to work for her family. Ever since her mom died, she’s been much colder. Where she used to be outspoken and confrontational, now she can be really biting and just plain icy. She definitely pushes people away and self-sabotages if she starts getting too close. On the other hand, she enjoys letting loose and having a bit of a wild child moment. Essentially, she’s quick to react and often on her base instincts.

TLDR; Daria was a difficult, bratty child and her mom was her biggest supporter until she was MURDERED. she kind of went of the deep end after that, partying in nyc and turning her pain into art. when she was finally dragged to vegas to be with family she shaped up a little. she’s loyal to the foxes, but not without a lil resentment, and has a lot of anger toward the rest of the gangs. now she’s a difficult, bratty adult, not unlike a feral animal.

[darialys]

boxycons​:

like or reblog

[darialys]

90s runway looks 🦋

[darialys]

* scarlett leithold, cisfemale + she/her  | you know jennifer cohen, right? they’re twenty four, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, seven years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to body by megan thee stallion like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that dancing like everyone’s watching, freshly tousled blonde hair, writing on a mirror in lipstick thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is july 5th, so they’re a cancer, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( lyndsay, 24, est, she/her ) ( pinterest )

(abortion; tw) (pregnancy; tw)

background (tw; abortion)

jen was mostly raised by her mother in small town in new jersey. she had a pretty normal childhood but never felt like she got the attention she needed from her parents. following their bitter divorce, her mom had a revolving door of boyfriends in and out of the apartment and her dad was preoccupied with his new family.

eventually she started to look for that attention and acceptance elsewhere. she dove headfirst into the social scene at her school–started cheerleading, going to parties, dating–and she quickly realized that attention really wasn’t that hard to come by. in fact, it was pretty easy. especially from the guys

she’d always been boy-crazy but the awakening of her sexuality in high school showed her just how addictive it could be to feel desired. she began thriving on sexual attention, dressing provocatively and acting the part for her dose of validation

but the more her reputation grew, the more validation she seemed to need. it became a vicious cycle, and not one without its consequences. 

getting pregnant was hardly the biggest deal–it wasn’t the 50s and she’d been an accident herself–but she there was no way in hell she was having a kid. her mother went with her to planned parenthood and it was sorted out quickly, but not before the ‘friends’ she’d confided in made sure everyone knew. 

the punishment hardly seemed to fit the crime, but the ensuing scandal was enough for her to move in with her dad that she barely knew and his family down in north carolina. she only had one year left of school anyway. 

she’s had a bit of a chip on her shoulder ever since. after graduation she stayed in the area for college and with her self-worth in tatters she fell right back into the pattern of letting people’s expectations and her own craving for acceptance control her.

she often felt like her behavior was completely out of her control, that she couldn’t stop herself from the choices that brought her instant gratification, especially where sex was concerned. even knowing she wake up with regret, she couldn’t bring herself to stop indulging

her grades weren’t great and her friendships, of which there were many, were surface at best--she drove most people away--but she survived despite the terrible decisions along the way. 

though she planned to move back north, perhaps working in nyc one day, she’d gotten comfortable enough and found a job that paid well enough to keep her from making the leap. 

she’d started as an intern and worked her way up in corporate event planning for a prestigious firm. she tries not to think about whether or not she got the job based on merit or… connections. but regardless, she’s good at what she does and doesn’t hate schmoozing with the wealthy at cocktail parties. 

still, she’s restless and looking for more, which has perhaps kept her from outgrowing her lust for drama.

personality

jenny is deeply insecure and most of her life revolves around seeking acceptance and validation.

she is extremely flirtatious and would never say no to a hookup.

she’s a lot of fun and definitely knows how to ensure everyone is having a good time. There isn’t a person she wouldn’t talk to. Extroverted to the extreme.

A huge gossip. She’s nosy and likes knowing everyone’s business, but she also likes passing that information along. Isn’t the best at keeping secrets but CAN. Sometimes.

She can be a little short-tempered and defensive. If you poke at something she’s touchy about, she turns feral. Can also be a little confrontational.

Sometimes she grapples with needing to feel in control and can be prone to starting petty arguments or stirring up trouble to sate that. she tests boundaries and provokes reactions. 

would also never miss an event–you can find her in the middle of the dance floor making sure all eyes are on her, at bottomless brunch most sundays, or even at a local poetry reading if she heard enough buzz about it

She can be pretty selfish and inconsiderate of others 

She can be self-destructive. She has a tendency to push people away and test boundaries.

tldr;

24 year old cancer from nj who moved her senior year of hs to north carolina and currentlhy works in event planning who has let being labeled a slut dictate her life, is constantly seeking validation, and is just starting to realize maybe something’s wrong. great for a fun time and is working on the rest. 

Feel free to message me for plots! I’m open to and eager for anything you think might work for our characters! Otherwise, I love exploring chemistry and seeing what happens!

[darialys]

carmentorerro‌:

“if i’m answering truthfully?” she paused, pouting her lips in thought as she gave jenny a once over, “i think overall you’d do great in prison. i think you might have an issue with the pecking order at first, but something tells me you’d end up on top.” she said, shrugging slightly as to not disturb their intertwined arms. this definitely wasn’t normal for the two of them, but drugs often made carmen a little more touchy-feely than usual. she laughed without restrain when jenny described her night, “harsh.” she exclaimed through the laugh, “especially when whoever you were just with was is probably lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering how they got so lucky.” she hummed, an easy smile playing at her lips, even when she couldn’t place whether jenny was mocking her playfully or maliciously. “better to ask than to be murdered without being able to plead my case, no?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, “about half past three, i would say…” she paused, fingers brushing the spot beneath her eyes, “do i look like a used rag? i absolutely feel like one.”

Everything would be so much easier if Carmen was just a bitch. That would make their dynamic nice and simple--Jenny could explain her aversion without sound like an insecure head case and they could get with their lives in uncomfortable silence peppered with petty arguments. They wouldn’t have to walk down the street, arm in arm, playing nice and pretending there wasn’t this bizarre tension between them. What if Carmen didn’t even feel it? She was acting like she didn’t feel it, which was almost more irritating than if she’d been outright rude. Where did she get off making Jenny feel crazy? “Is that like giving a robber your money so he won’t steal it?” she asked, forcing a smile as they walked. “If you look like a used rag, then I don’t even want to know what I look like. Where are you coming from?”