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healisms-blog1 · 5 years ago

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❝ the good girl is always a ghost, the body is always a wound. ❞

( katherine mcnamara. 23. she/her. ) we spotted MARIELLA CAULFIELD around toledo today, just another gear in the machine of the apocalypse. i heard she is a MEDIC for CAMP SEROTONIN. i guess it fits, seeing as she is known to be + resilient & + charitable, as well as - impatient & - naïve. they often have fade by lewis capaldi in their head while they work. i wonder if they’re prepared for what’s coming ? ( faye. 22. est. she/her. n/a. )

life as she knew it,

Born to Louise Brodeur and Darby Caulfield in the midst of a very cold winder night in Leavenworth, Washinton, Mariella Caulfield was the product of a unconventional relationship. Despite their new addition, both refused to settle down into an indifferent, loveless marriage and instead agreed they would work to raise their daughter separately. Once she was able to walk she would spend time split equally between Washintong and New Orleans, Louisiana. It was often that her parents fought on what values to instill into her, their core values and expectations never quite lining up.

Her father wanted her to be raised to live life as she pleased, whereas her mother would have preferred she was brought up in a more traditional sense. As a result, Mariella had very different relationships with her parents. To her dad, who she mirrored in more ways than one, she could do no wrong. Her mom on the other hand, she had grown to detest her daughter more and more with every visit. She reminded her too much of her father, a man she loved more than anything to hate.

The friction between she and her mother eventually came to a boiling point at age ten when child protective services were called to their townhouse by a neighbor. The elderly women next door often overheard screaming between the two of them and worried she might be abusing her child. The charges were investigated and eventually dropped, but the memory of being ripped from everything she knew and ( while briefly ) shoved into foster care has always stuck with her. While Louise was technically not guilty of anything, she did very little to prove otherwise once her parental rights were restored.

Even as a young child Mariella was the type who wanted to get out and explore, to meet as many people as possible and learn from them as she went. Being raised by two teachers really set her love for learning into motion. Knowledge above all else was something her childhood was rooted in, and the fever to learn stuck with her well into her time in school. There was no one subject she enjoyed more than the other, but she had a particular penchant for STEM classes. She went through all the changes in potential career growing up; from wanting to be a ballerina, an astronaut, to even considering following in her parents footsteps and becoming a teacher; which is how they met.

On a particularly hot afternoon in the middle of summer, her father began complaining of chest pain and shortness of breath. At first he assured her that it would go away, he would be fine. But as the night persisted and he wasn’t getting any better, she dialed 911 in the hopes that emergency response would make it on time. From the minute she arrived at the hospital she was captivated by the process and found herself asking questions to anyone who would speak to her. Mariella was thirteen then, and everything seemed to have fallen into place. Funny as it was, she found her calling through her father’s heart attack.

It wasn’t until she reached university that she really started experiencing the world for what it was, and she quickly felt like a fish out of water among the masses. As such it was rare you’d find her without at least two books tucked under her arm. Being a medical student took up the majority of her life, the courses work-heavy and requiring immense concentration, but she tried to be as social as she was dedicated to her education. Given she graduated high school at fifteen, the girl pushed herself to mingle with people across the board rather sticking to one fixed set of friends. At her core she believed all people had something more to discover beyond what was shown at face value, thus she made connections wherever she was able.

Graduation from Med school arrived in a whirlwind of emotion, mostly exhaustion and relief. While as happy as she was to be finished with the bulk of her studies and onto the next stage of her impending career, Mariella knew this was one of the last times she’d have to well and truly enjoy being young before fully engulfing herself into the workforce. So, rather than sticking to her typical plan, she decided to celebrate on an impromptu trip to Ireland, setting off with nothing but a quickly packed suitcase and whatever money was left in her bank account.

the start of the outbreak & onward,

September 25th, 2015. Crowded among a group of strangers underneath an airport television, word of the outbreak begins spreading on television. Everyone within the confines of the Louis Armstrong airport in New Orleans were on edge following the story dropping, numerous people began panicking. Rather than feeding into outcry, as nothing around her seemed to be out of the ordinary, she pushed it from her mind as she boarded her connecting flight to Europe. Only, the plane never left the ground.

Ten minutes after their plane finishes boarding, all of the passengers find themselves face-to-face with one of the creatures. Being small and quick on her feet played in her favour as she quickly maneuvered through the plane, narrowly escaping the bloodbath with her life. A good few of them survived the ordeal and decided to stick together, spending the initial night of the outbreak holed up in a supply closet. The group separates the next morning, each hoping to return to their respective families. She, however, blindly decides to make a run for it.

Alone, unarmed, and terrified, she did the best she could for someone in her situation. They—whatever they were—began surrounding the gas station she holed herself up in, making any chance at escape very slim. Convinced she’d die there, whether by starvation or from being attacked when the reinforcements on her door gave way, Mariella began plotting an escape route. She knew very little about the outbreak as it stood, but was observant enough to notice that if they were distracted by a loud noise, she could make her way around without much trouble.

The next week or so is spent coming in and out of abandoned houses and scavenging whatever she can carry. Mostly everything she took was medical supplies, building herself quite the kit should she need to help someone in need. By that point her initial adjustment to the new world went by quite horribly. As time passed she quickly found that the more ‘savage’ way of living was not the one for her.

At first of the mind that the creatures were still people underneath the dirt and decay, Mary refused to kill them. To her, they could still be saved. There would be a cure. There had to be, right? Before she joins a group or finds a solid place to call home, a close encounter with a hoard is what changes her mind. Someone steps in to save her, and she’s felt indebted to them ever since. The near-death experience acted as a wake up call, and from that point on she stopped avoiding the inevitable; to survive, the undead had to be exterminated. The possibility of a cure ( or at the very least a vaccine to help the remaining humans ) still plays in the back of her mind.

The person that rescued her disappeared as quickly as they swooped in to aid her, but she got lucky shortly after and found a few people to travel with. Everyone within her group seemed to be handling the transition with relative ease — whereas she found herself keenly aware that she would not survive long if not for having capable people surrounding her. Though she may not be the greatest in combat or of much use when it comes to scavenging, she knows she’s a valuable asset in other ways, happily putting her medical knowledge to good use.

January 14th, 2016. Catching wind of a camp called Serotonin beginning a slow recruit of people with varying abilities, Mariella is among the first to offer her expertise. Thankfully she’s welcomed with open arms and feels she may have found herself somewhere much more permanent to call home. Trust doesn’t come so easily in their new world, though she’d certainly lay her life on the line if it came to down to protecting her people. Any people, actually, because prioritizing human life above all else is her number one goal. When she’s not tending to the ill or injured, the young woman proudly acts as a morale boost, doing whatever she can to keep everyone around her going. Where most people have seemingly given up hope on there ever being a way out, let alone a real chance of survival to the end, she remains fixed in her belief that there are better days ahead of them.

misc,

Basically, she’s kind, gentle, soft, dedicated, passionate, thoughtful, stubborn.

She’s a certified Mom Friend™ and proud of it.

Would literally go to any length necessary if it means keeping those she cares about safe. She honestly just wants to save people in general !!!

She tends to see the best in people, even those who don’t deserve a moment of her time, and tbh, she’s not to be trusted when it comes to making allies; she’s liable to take in the wrong people and get herself killed.

She’s not helpless, she can get things done when needed, but she can’t fully defend herself. Aka, she ABSOLUTELY needs training.

wanted connections,

I’m not very picky, I’d love any and everything under the sun, but here are a few potential ideas:

Maybe someone she met travelling between baton rouge and the reservoir, who helped keep her alive and she aided them medically

Friends and/or a close/best friend

A good influence, someone who brings out the less tense, more relaxed version of herself

Maybe an ex or a past fling??? idk

Someone to help train her!! homegirl really needs to learn how to use a gun and fight (honestly, bc Kat has good content from Shadowhunters and Arrow and I rly want to use it)

People outside of her camp that she helps, bc honestly she wouldn’t be able to resist doing whatever she can to aid people, especially helping a rouge if they came to her

idk just pls gimmie all the connections/plots AhH!

#toxinintro #temp about tag.#feel free to skim it's a literal bio kjsfbkjbk omg #pls lmk if you wanna plot

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shatteredskies042 · 6 years ago

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Flying East

The seats were far from comfortable, but the stewardesses allowed them to sit anywhere, so he took the emergency door seating. It gave him space to stretch out, able to adjust his pistol to sit more comfortably. He had a few hours in flight once their takeoff roll was complete.

The last six years had been hectic. Everything had started on the Korean Peninsula, shortly after Michael had completed his training and gotten his first deployment. He had been assigned to guard a forward runway near the border between the two Koreas that the U.S. Air Force would use to recover damaged aircraft, and sortie VTOL aircraft. The post had been fairly low key, an easy posting without much danger or excitement. When tensions rose, and hours before the war began, a small cargo plane had landed at the facility. The plane and it’s cargo were a closely guarded secret, and Michael had been ordered to stand guard and not ask too many questions. That went out the window when the armies of the North rolled South, and the Korean War reignited. Brilliant flashes on the horizon had drawn his gaze, but even as remote and hidden as his posting was, his little airstrip became the object of a pitched battle.

That first battle felt like the aftermath of a dream. Michael had hints of it, and vaguely knew what happened, but anytime he focused on the memory it disappeared like smoke. The passengers on the aircraft had joined them in the battle, some multinational special forces group. The more he thought about it, the more the Korean Campaign felt like a car crash to him. He did not remember much of it, just snippets of the action he faced through that flash of a war. His only stark memory of the war was witnessing the North detonating nuclear weapons on their own soil to create a no man’s land none dared to cross. He had been far enough away that the blast was a mere spectacle for him to behold, but a terrifying one at that. Taken aback by the horror of the North’s actions, the world brokered a quiet peace.

By the end of it, Michael guessed he had managed to impress someone important. He was reassigned to Germany, and started to work for Task Force BLACK, alongside some of the same men he served with in Korea. In the span of a few years, he went from fresh out of basic to running with the class of the world. He deployed to hotspots all over the world, taking down terrorists and dangerous criminals, neutralizing weapons of mass destruction, preventing atrocity. All with the minimum of press coverage on their operation. The name of the unit was leaked to the press after a series of successful and connected counterterror operations. A warning to others who sought to spread terror.

Then came Michael’s second war, another conflict to plague the Middle East. He and his comrades in BLACK assaulted oil rigs to free them of Iranian occupation, then missile sites so that ships could transit the Persian Gulf safely. They were later deployed far behind Iranian lines to save a downed German fighter pilot, snatching him from the clutches of the Iranian military before he could be executed. They had failed to capture the Ayatollah of Iran, the chief proponent of starting a war with the west, the religious leader escaping on a private jet to parts unknown. The Ayatollah disappeared for several months, until Michael and Task Force BLACK deployed to Chechnya on a lead. It was a wild night, finding the runner in a barn surrounded by a mix of fanatic Iranians sworn to guard their leader and hardened Chechen terrorists.

He had been part of the grab team, remembering the rush of stepping silently through the village, past the sentries and towards the central barn. They had both the majority of BLACK’s operators and a Spetsnaz unit for backup, but if things went wrong while Michael and his small three man team were inside the village, they would only leave in a body bag. They made it to the barn without being detected, and in a flash of lightning entered the building. With suppressed gunfire they struck down those inside, all but their target. A bag was thrown over his head and tightened to prevent his screaming from being too loud.

Their extraction was when it went south, a sentry hearing the muffled cries of the fugitive leader drew attention from a sentry. The attention drew shouts, and with shouts came unwanted attention. The perimeter of BLACK operators and Spetsnaz opened fire then, turning the quiet night into bright flashes of a confused firefight. The team prioritized the extraction of their prisoner, with Michael taking cover behind a large, Soviet-era military turned farmtruck. He shot back against the defenders in the village, joined by the troops on the perimeter, closing in to clean out the den of terrorists and fighters.

It was then he caught his first bullet. For the last three years he had operated with Task Force BLACK and not sustained one serious injury. Sure, he had rolled ankles, sustained cuts and bruises, strained muscles, but never an injury that put him on his back.

The second he was cleared to move up, and join the team clearing the closest house, he caught a bullet right in the chest. The round hit smack in the center of his chest, protected by a ceramic breastplate that saved his life. The force of the round hit like a truck, and put him on his back in the muddy sugar beet field. He stared at the dark clouds above for but a moment, before he had the presence of mind to roll back into safety, covering himself with mud. A Spetsnaz medic accompanied by a pair of BLACK operators rushed to his position, the gunfire from his teammates and allies intensening after they saw him get hurt. He brushed them off, nothing but sore ribs as his chest plate had taken the brunt of the impact.

Their latest mission to Siberia should have been routine, roll up some bad guys and secure their cargo. The majority of his teammates, men he’d trained and fought with, bonded with as brothers, dead. Michael opened his eyes and gazed out the window at the brightening horizon, but felt only emptiness. For the first time in his life, he felt alone, but he still had a purpose. He had to finish the mission, find the nukes, and avenge the fallen.

But what about after that? How did he clear his name? What would he do? Live underground and try a fresh start? Or turn himself in with whatever evidence he had to prove his innocence? Michael had never operated in the dark like this before, never had to work alone against the odds. He forced his mind off the future, and focused only on the present. He’d be landing in Saint Petersburg soon, then he could hop a flight to Germany.

He had an old friend who lived to the south of Berlin, a friend who owed him a favor. Michael was confident he could supply all the materials he needed to create a new identity, and get means to transport his mission equipment past customs.

As he felt the aircraft begin to descend on the timeless city, he worried about the families of those left behind. Many in the unit were married, some of them were fathers, would their families be taken care of? He had been one of the number of bachalors on the team, his entire focus for the last three years being training and perfecting his art. Task Force BLACK had attracted some of the best in the business, and with the pull of government officials had wrangled the operators whatever trainers they wanted or needed. Michael had trained with martial arts instructors and special forces from all around the globe, fine tuning his skills. Some had joked he was trying to become the perfect soldier, but Michael told himself that all the training and pain was for his comrades: The better he was, the more his team could count on him. His social life had been limited to the men and women on the base, his only family his busy aunt. Training was his only real outlet, the only productive way he could spend his time. Every time someone came home from the field badly injured or in a body bag, Michael took the blame on himself, and recommitted to training harder so that it would not happen again.

His eyes stared for miles out the window as he remembered every failure, every lost squad member, every quiet ceremony performed in memory of the fallen. After the proper funeral, the survivors had gathered for a private wake, drinks abounded, the first always poured out in memory of their lost comrade. Stories were told, laughs were had, they tried to remember the best of the dead.

Everyone dealt with it in their own way, and he chose to work harder. Now it would pay off, or he would die in failure.

Forcing the thought away as the aircraft touched down heavily, jolting him awake. Michael stretched in the seat, waiting for the plane to come to a stop so he could continue his adventure.

Deboarding was a breeze, Pulkovo International well equipped to handle incoming aircraft. After leaving the plane, Michael quickly foind a ticket counter and acquired a seat on a plane to Berlin. He had always wanted to spend time in this city, studying it’s history and just wandering around. Saint Petersburg had seen dozens of different governments, several name changes, war and peace, a marvel in preservation. However, he had a mission. He had a two hour layover, and he wished he could do much more with that time: A shower high on that list.

Purchasing an overpriced water, Michael Haghn sat in the terminal of a Saint Petersburg airport and contemplated life and death. The latter had been a constant companion of his almost since his teenage years. At the tender age of sixteen, his parents had been ripped away from him in a gruesome murder. It had changed him profusely, an entire spectrum shift from a carefree and happy teenager to the driven man he was today. His father had been a police officer, a hardworking man just trying to make his community a better place. His mother had been a nurse, working a town over in their hospital. Looking back he never got to spend the time he wanted with them, although they had spent quality time together as a family, one truly did not know what they had until it was lost.

Michael wondered what they would think of him now. Certainly proud he had joined the military, his father had been in the Army before suffering an injury. He could not have told them about his posting and missions with the Task Force, but hoped they would be proud of the prestigious post. Now? Heartbroken, and he doubt that they would accept that he and his team had stolen the weapons they had been ordered to safeguard. He could hope, anyway.

His aunt had his belongings, or control over. A storage shed containing clothes, some trinkets, pictures, and his prized muscle car. The thought of his car brought back more memories, of his father when he first returned home with the car. The 1969 Camaro Super Sport was unrecognizable, just a body and an engine not even a junkyard would accept. For two years they would work whenever they both got the chance, cleaning the rust off, installing new parts, rebuilding the car from the ground up. The death of his parents had come before he and his father could finish the project, but Michael took it upon himself to finish the restoration in his father’s name. It was done now, but sat idle in storage, turned over every couple months by his aunt.

Getting home would be another monumental task, but he had one mountain to climb still.

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loreneweiner · 7 years ago

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DUI Death of Bicycle Rider

On a recent night at the end of September, a BMX racer from Utah was out for a bicycle ride. At some point, he was struck from behind by a car and died. The driver of that car was taken into custody on suspicion of DUI.

Reports indicate that the bicycle rider initially survived the crash and was taken to a hospital in the area. He suffered trauma to his back, neck and head. Despite the efforts of medical personnel, he recently died.

Police suspect DUI in death of bicycle rider in Utah

Utah officials say that the driver accused of striking the bicycle rider had a blood alcohol level over three times the state’s legal limit. If this is true, the best thing for the driver to do is to get a DUI Lawyer to help. It is not yet known whether the driver will face charges in connection with the rider’s death in addition to a possible charge for driving under the influence. If so, he could be facing serious penalties if he is convicted.

First, however, prosecutors must prove to the court beyond a reasonable doubt that the man was intoxicated on the night in question. This will require the results of the blood alcohol test to be validated, along with any other testing that may have occurred such as field sobriety tests. Mistakes can occur, and no one should be convicted of a DUI if testing procedures were not followed or if a sample was somehow tainted. The man’s criminal defense team will be afforded the right to review all of the evidence prosecutors intend to present to the court and to refute the charges in court.

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Car accident could result in DUI charges for driver

When impairment is suspected in an accident here in Utah, the driver suspected of driving under the influence could face serious charges. If the crash resulted in the serious injury or death of anyone involved, the charges could be upgraded to felony DUI. If that happens, the potential penalties could be much more severe.

A pickup truck driver recently involved in an accident involving another vehicle could be facing charges for driving under the influence of alcohol. Preliminary police reports suggest that the man somehow lost control of his pickup on a turn and hit the second vehicle. Fortunately, the pickup truck driver was not seriously hurt, but the two occupants who were in the second vehicle suffered significant injuries.

All three people involved were taken to hospitals for treatment. The driver and passenger of the car remained hospitalized in serious but stable condition at last report. The lacerations to the pickup truck driver’s face were treated. Why officials believe that he was intoxicated was not reported.

The investigation does not appear to be complete, and charges are supposedly pending. Once all of the evidence is gathered and the statements of any witnesses are taken, the information will more than likely be given to Utah prosecutors to determine whether they believe that there is enough reason to file criminal charges against the driver. A criminal defense attorney can focus on ensuring that the man’s rights are not violated.

Even if it turns out that prosecutors believe enough evidence of DUI exists and charges are filed, that does not automatically mean that the man will be found guilty. He is presumed innocent until and unless the court finds him guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. Furthermore, if it turns out that his rights were violated during the course of the investigation, which could also affect whether charges are filed and/or withstand the scrutiny of the criminal court.

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If you’ve been charged with vehicular manslaughter or DUI call Ascent Law for your free consultation (801) 676-5506. We want to help you.

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