#coronadointro

[tempestuas]

Vera Del Bosque, 45, has called Coronado home all their life. As the museum director at Coronado Historical Center, their world is steeped in touches as cool as polished marble, expensive perfume combined with cheap cigarette smoke, and the fading ink of an old tattoo. Often found attending the theatre, alone in their box, they move through life with The Chain by Fleetwood Mac in their ear.

musings ✶ mirror ✶ pinterest ✶ playlist

basics —

NAME: Vera Elisabeth Del Bosque NICKNAME(S): V (give her more!) AGE: 45 DATE OF BIRTH: May 19th , 1980 GENDER: Cis woman (she/her) ORIENTATION: Bisexual AFFILIATION: The Del Bosques

background —

BIRTHPLACE: Casa Del Bosque, Coronado EDUCATION: BA in Fine Art, MA in History of Art, PhD in Cultural Heritage OCCUPATION: Museum Director at Coronado Historical Center

FATHER: Hector Del Bosque MOTHER: Amara Del Bosque (née Villar) SIBLING(S): Rafael Del Bosque SPOUSE: Luis Fernando Morales Del Bosque CHILDREN: One (details tbc)

appearance —

FACECLAIM: Rosamund Pike HEIGHT: 5'8 BUILD: Lithe, vaguely athletic HAIR: Blonde, armpit length — most commonly worn loose or in a chignon EYES: Clear blue MARKS/SCARS: A mole on the back of her neck, a small scar on her right knee TATTOOS: A number of intricate back tattoos, collected during the more rebellious period in her late teens and early twenties; her family hates them, which makes her more inclined to show them off (insp.) STYLE: Simple, chic pieces usually in neutral tones — wool suits, cashmere sweaters, fine cotton shirts, silk blouses and dresses; she rarely wears anything tight fitting, preferring elegant drapery and tailoring, and favours gold jewellery over silver SIGNATURE SCENT: Iris, musk, ambrette, sandalwood

personality —

+ shrewd, protective, idealistic, passionate, efficient - resentful, jealous, uncooperative, vain, temperamental

ZODIAC: ☉ Taurus; ☾ Leo; ↑ Aquarius MBTI: ISTP-A (The Virtuoso) ENNEAGRAM: Type 4 (The Individualist) TEMPERAMENT: Melancholic ALIGNMENT: True neutral

PARALLELS: Madeline Usher (The Fall of the House of Usher); Siobhan Roy (Succession); Princess Margaret (The Crown); Lily van der Woodsen (Gossip Girl); Daisy Buchanan (The Great Gatsby)

summary —

As the youngest child of Hector and Amara Del Bosques, a daughter, and her father's favourite, little expectation was placed on Vera by her parents beyond the usual insistence of upholding family values and not making an idiot of yourself. Because of this, she was given a certain degree of freedom that would not have otherwise have been afforded to her — and this was something that she seized.

During her teenage years she became outspoken, bordering on impertient at times, but vivacious too. She developed an interest in politics, befriended people at university who her family advised she avoided. There was never any real intent to harm the reputation of the Del Bosques, she was merely a free spirit who wanted to live well, and experience more than she would have in the crystalline bubble she had been born into. That was until she met Luis.

It was her who approached him, naturally. (In some ways, she supposes that means that everything that has happened since is all her fault). Despite the raised eyebrows and pursed lips of her family, she ignored it all in favour of the young man she had fallen for so rapidly she hardly remembered when it happened. Their relationship was intense, progressing far too quickly for either of them to comprehend, and then, even quicker.

Vera tried to keep the pregnancy secret until she and Luis had a chance to decide what they wanted to do, but unbeknownst to her, the Del Bosque family doctor was paid to inform her parents of all of her medical information, without her knowledge or consent. Thus ended the period of her life where freedom was available to her. She loved Luis, even loved their impromptu marriage and their unplanned child, but over the years the distraction that they provided from her golden cage stopped working. She continued studying, got (or was given) a job, continued to try and perform as wife and mother, but the fire that had once been in her slowly began to sputter out.

Somewhere in the mundanity that had become her life, she began to pay more attention to her brother, Rafael. The two had never been especially close, but his intentions towards relinquishing the control that the Del Bosques have over Coronado only serve to sour her opinion of him even further. Though she has spent most of her life opposing tradition, the idea of losing more power in an existence where she already feels powerless is abhorrent to her, and she is beginning to wonder whether someone needs to take a more hardline stance is needed to manage her brother's new plans.

headcanons —

For most of her life, Vera had wanted to become an artist — something that the Del Bosques had initially been very supportive of, given that it suited their brand of making cultural contributions to Coronado. After meeting Luis and getting pregnant by him, however, her family decided that she needed to do something "more productive". Of the options offered to her, she decided that museums was the best way to go.

She frequently attends the theatre or the opera on her own — partially because she enjoys it, and partially just to get out of the house.

To her credit, Vera has tried extremely hard to be a good mother. How successful she has been is up for debate. While she's tried to impose fewer restrictions on her child than she was subjected to so they can live relatively normally, and has done her best to protect them from the opinions of the elder members of the Del Bosques, she has also often been emotionally distant, and perhaps a little too relaxed in her parenting methods.

More TBC!!

[blueosman]

Blue Osman, 27, has called Coronado home for 1 year. As a dancer at Midnight Decree, their world is steeped in glittering sequined corsets, whispered secrets in red velvet rooms, and pills of many colors to evade her memories. Often found reapplying their lipstick and quickly scribbling notes down on club napkins, they move through life with Change (In the House of Flies) by Deftones in their ear.

Info is under the cut. Click on images to enhance quality/expand or scroll to the bottom of the page for text.

Text:

before

I.  There was the sound of June’s laughter like heavenly music to her ears - Blue’s first memory. In those days, she’d felt like God himself shone the sun on her and her alone. Not sure what she’d done to deserve it, but not one to pry, she accepted her life as perfect. Life is blue sky, warm days, and milk and honey. It is family dinners, dancing in the den, and deep belly laughter. She’s young then, carefully cradled by a blanket of innocence, safe in the epicenter of her nuclear family. Her carefree spirit had yet to be tamed, and her sister June is by her side at every step. There are just the two of them and no one else in the world. Junie-and-Louie, a four armed, four eyed, twenty fingered animal. They are joy, smiling mouth, eager heart, and indomitable spirit.

II. When they are older June leaves for college and it is Blue’s first heartbreak. She is off to Coronado University and Blue begs her not to leave. How could she go so far away from home without a second thought? The question fills her mind, expands and contracts in all of the neurons and grey matter. She’d known God to be the guiding hand, but had never expected him so cruel that he’d let her sister leave her. Weeks pass and Blue’s sadness persists and grips tightly onto her bones. Her parents are concerned, but time passes on as it always does, and eventually she comes around. It makes her happy to see her parents talk about how proud they are of June, seeing as they hadn’t gone to college themselves. “A real journalist in the family,” her mother would whisper blissfully, “My own daughter”. June is focused and diligent at school. She sends letters home, and calls with updates. But, in her last year, these are harder to come by. Blue feels her sadness return to her.

III. Blue wants to be a painter, and everyone says she’s talented enough for it. This is her calling, she thinks. Here is the thing that everyone wants and goes their whole lives wanting, and she has it. She feels lucky, like maybe God had decided to give her some reprieve. But then of course, because he has a sick sense of humor, her mother is suddenly very sick. So she goes to a college close to home in order to help tend to her. University life comes and goes, and Blue’s boat feels unsteady. On one hand she is offered a residency somewhere she’s always dreamed of going. She wants to leave her town so badly and start fresh. She almost does. However, on the other hand, her mother’s condition is worsening, so she stays. Life goes by in hues of brown and grey. She welcomes her sadness as a break from the numbness that tries to consume her. She calls June and offers to visit and she’s told not to bother. Years pass. No art. No life of her own. No June.

IV. Then, one night, Blue is awoken by a strange sound in the house. Investigation leads her to June’s old room, where she nervously watches her sister frantically rummaging for something and muttering harsh words under her breath. Blue almost doesn’t recognize the gaunt, disheveled, manic person in front of her and the sight scares her. Who had her sister become in their years apart? Thousands of questions bubble up in her throat. She tries to speak to her, begs her to explain what’s going on, but just as quickly as she appeared, June is headed for the door and gone. In the midst of the panic, a crumpled piece of paper had fallen from June’s satchel. Blue picks it up, the torn edge of a letter that she can’t quite decipher. On the back, though, is ‘DEL BOSQUE’ scribbled in red ink. She decides then that enough is enough, and goes to Coronado to get some answers from her sister. What she doesn’t expect walking into June’s unlocked apartment is the darkness and the mess. Littered and scattered on seemingly every inch of the living room are papers, articles, red string, and thumb tacks. There are endless notepads filled with dates, times, and places scribbled in June’s messy handwriting. On the wall there is a collage of sorts, some mystery yet to be uncovered. Blue glances at all of the photos and papers, but doesn’t recognize any of the faces or names except for one - Del Bosque. She waits for June to come back and explain. She waits - for hours, for days, for three weeks - but June doesn’t return. 

now.

V. A year later, and June is still missing, though Blue feels her presence everywhere. She dances at Midnight Decree, now fully enmeshed in a life of secret code, secret dances, private clients, champagne, chandeliers, and lies. But with time, Paloma City wears on her and she knows she is out of her depth. More often than not she feels like the trunk of a tree being axed in two, separate identities diverging from the wound. At night she is alive - she sparkles. She is beautiful, clever, swift and sophisticated, coquette with keenness but intent. She is fun but sensual, the perfect combination for a woman who must charm for information. One night, one of the clients called her ‘effervescent' and she laughed at his earnestness. Not because it was a silly thing to say, but because she knew that she was playing her part well.

But by day break, she retreats into herself again. Life is slow and heavy in these hours, and a dark fog rolls over her, thick and black as ink. If she doesn’t take the pills, she fears it might swallow her whole. She has to take a few more to forget what she’s overheard at the club and what she’s been made to do for the hungry eyes of men. When she returns to her sister’s apartment, aching and sore from the night's work, she trudges over to their wall of proof, tacking down another sentence, another clue that someone has generously and unknowingly given her, another something…another anything. A year here and there hasn’t been too much progress. But she knows in her heart that her sister is alive and waiting for her. She can find her if she can just hold it together.

[luis-del-bosque]

Luis Fernando Morales Del Bosque, 45, has called Coronado home for all their life. As a CEO of the Empyrean Publishing, their world is steeped in a smell of strong coffee and even stronger cigarettes, a search of recognition & self-acceptance, and big dreams & even bigger plans. Often found scribbling something in his very secretive notebook, they move through life with Mother by Danzig in their ear.

I.

You’ve always been ambitious — and always wore a mask. Born into a family of junkyard salvagers, you’re familiar with the flavour of acid on your tongue — you can smell and taste it when you only drink water for days trying to fill your empty stomach up. You’ve survived the burning sensation countless times. You think it’s the reason you have such vivid dreams. Your mother calls them hallucinations of power & mightiness — you don’t know that yet, but she’s wrong. It’s not a delusion — your struggle will indeed make you resilient; ruthless, even.

As a child you were devious. You knew there would be no other way to rise from the place you were born into: you have to lie, to fawn, to hide your past & your true self. Life’s not fair, you’ve heard so many times, and you were forced to believe it — and perhaps they weren’t wrong. Would these dirty hands of yours be capable of holding any sort of authority?

II.

You become someone who you were once rebelling against — sometimes you forget, but there was a time when you were trying to become a part of the underground resistance; a passionate screw in the machine that fought against injustice. 

It didn’t last long. You find yourself in a pair of military boots. Innocence and naïveté washed away in the baptism of fire. The uniform is what seemed appealing to her, too, or at least that’s what you think. After all, you were serving this country. And someone of her name would appreciate it. 

Now you can’t remember who was the first to approach — but it couldn’t have been you. Because you knew who she was, and you knew your place. It wasn’t right beside her. 

But that’s where you end up. For a short while, you try to hide your true self. But they know everything, it doesn’t take long for her family to find out where you’re actually from. They don’t like it, of course. But they’re sure this — whatever it was that was happening — wouldn’t last long.

III.

And this was their first mistake. A positive pregnancy test equals a major scandal for the Del Bosque family — only because of the father. You.  They’re very efficient, they know what to do and what actions have to be taken for everything to be settled.

First, you have to get married and take the Del Bosque name. Second, leave the military and enroll into university — all of the expenses will be paid. Third, you’ll get a job. And you don’t get to choose it. You’re someone else now — someone new. Someone who doesn’t have a family, and came from another country. Someone who has great education, someone who’s rich, successful, desired by all. 

When you remember — on occasion — you send your parents some money. For the grief they’ve been dealing with after the loss of their only son.

IV.

When you were dreaming of success, was this what you imagined? Losing yourself, being hated by the family you’re a part of, never having home to return to? Was this what you wanted? How long does it take until you forget your own name? When do you crack — or do you become someone else entirely?

You’re happy with your job, though. You’re content with what you’ve learned, and what you get to meet and do. But is this enough? 

There are thoughts that keep you up at night. 

You’re an imposter. You’re nothing. Nobody needs you. And you still don’t have authority. But your wife, the sister of Rafael, might be the key to change all of it — perhaps you’re ready to use it now. 

------

In short: Grew up very poor, and thus joined the military because he really didn’t have many options. This poetic soul is struggling. One day, randomly runs into Rafael Del Bosque’s younger sister and… they fall in love? Crazy. The Del Bosque family hates it because wtf do you mean she’s going out with this peasant, but they’re like ok whatever, we’re keeping it under wraps and they can hang out for a bit until they inevitably get tired of each other. Well, yikers. She gets pregnant. Now they hate him even more, because WDYM THIS POOR ASS STUPID UNEDUCATED MF IS GONNA A FATHER OF HER CHILD????? She keeps the child though, and they’re forced to get married. He has to take the Del Bosque last name, hide his real identity, start studying at university, pretend to be of a higher class than he actually is. Isn’t really allowed to see his family often because of this. He gets a degree in English literature, immediately starts working at Empyrean Publishing (once again, doesn’t have that much choice). During the years, resentment starts to grow. Like, sure, he got a lot out of it, but none of the choices could be made by him, it was all already decided, he can’t see his own family, and he’s still considered to be less than other Del Bosque clan members. Relationship with his wife is probably not that good anymore too, but could be plotted once/if someone takes up the role.  Right now, he’s trying to persuade his wife to start thinking about how to take Rafael’s place. He just wants more power, what can I say?

[avery-st-m]

Avery St. Martin, 34, has called Coronado home for the past 22 years. As a kagehito assassin, her world is steeped in butterfly knives, lightning concealed in the clouds, and denim worn through with sentimentality. Often found drowning bad decisions in bars, she moves through life with Caterpillar by Hollow in her ear.

[ basics/timeline/plots ] [ about ] [ visuals ]

[intheseaofred]

Conrad Blake Aldridge, 28, has called Paloma City, Coronado, home for all of his life. As a mechanic, their world is steeped in trembling fingers reaching out to turn on the light after waking up from a nightmare, clothes permanently ruined by oil stains, and a stray dog baring their teeth to anyone who tries to pet them. Often found smoking a hand-rolled cigarette by the docks while chatting with whoever passes by, they move through life with bloodflood pt II by alt-j in their ear.

Click on this link for a more in depth intro (susceptible to changes at any time), please message me here or on discord for plot purposes!

[stromaintic]

( eric bogosian, cis man, he/him ) — dimitri saint-romain, 71, has called coronado home for all their life. as an accountant, their world is steeped in black marks on the ledgers, the spill of ink like blood, and the flow of wealth through beating hearts. often found exhaustively recusing himself in his home, they move through life with get me away from here, i'm dying by belle and sebastian in their ear.

THE BASICS — ❝ what's left of you, when whittled down into a fine point? are you still the sharpened edge, kid? or will you break when i take a stab at it?❞

name: dimitri saint-romain

nicknames: old man, boss guy, the goddamned accountant, d-money (hates that one)

birthday: october 27

sexual orientation: bisexual

positive traits: flexible, focused, analytical, pragmatic, amiable

negative traits: cynical, solitary, self-destructive, despondent, spiteful

occupation: lead accountant and head of an accounting firm called sra

7th january — [...] and mom's not really going to care, since she's off places, trying to scrub the floors in a fancy del bosque house. dad's off doing dockwork and probably drinking, and all i have to do is just do my homework and pretend everything's fine. they love me, but is love enough? is it enough to live like this?

THE PHYSICAL — ❝ and that time takes and takes and takes until there's nothing left but ash and dust and bone, count the hours until the grave calls.❞

height: six feet

distinguishing marks: a faded tattoo of a star on his left bicep, a scar going about an eighth of an inch under his left eye.

piercings: pierced ears with metal studs in them, worn on and off. mostly off.

clothing: mostly dark suits when meeting with one of the large families, dress shoes hand-polished to perfection. casually wears flannels, a bomber jacket, any overshirt with any dark undershirt even in the summer time. a mix of understated, yet striking and depression man.

15th august — finally bought that nice jacket to make an impression with the bigwigs but it's a size too big. there's not much else to say except that i need to beat out that asshole who keeps trying to sabotage my numbers. i'll call it an investment. maybe i'll slash his tires or something. who knows?

THE SKILLFUL — ❝ they can take it all, prince of lies, prince of tricks, prince of a thousand gifts, but in your wisdom, they will find you are not easy prey to hunt.❞

specialties: knowing where your money went, where it needs to go and why you keep coming up short in the end. forecasting if you really need that shipment to go through. hiding where you've got your ill-gotten gains.

combat tactics: a cleverly hidden shotgun under his table, maintained well. cut and run and hope that you have enough time to load the gun and blast away.

social leverage: can suss out if your business venture's a wash and can hide your dirty laundry in places where the so-called officials won't even dare to look.

reputation: known to operate with the three major families, with no declared allegiances. prefers dealing with the shibatas.

previous scandals: a marriage that ended because of kept secrets, a second marriage that died out because of hedonism and a lost hour, and a third that ended just because of stagnation. he has a divorce lawyer and a property lawyer on retainer, but at this day and age, he isn't exactly kicking down doors to be married.

21st may — the rings were expensive, so i'll still keep them, but my damn therapist is on my case about worrying over mementos and what ifs and moving on. screw that. being alone is better that the disappointing prospect of companionship, i guess, and if i need something to cheer me up, maybe i'll take up pickleball. or get a dog. shit, that sounds like a good idea, maybe a pitbull will [...]

THE NETWORK — ❝ why there is connection confounds you as you toil the fields, but it is never better to live as a haunting than the haunted.❞

hired muscle: dimitri is getting older, and with people hunting for his books, both legal and illegal, he's going to need someone who can fend off spies, assassins and genuinely nosy people from trying to gain access to his black books.

clients: coronado is a place where wealth moves like a ravenous snake—and if they need something to get a hold of it, dimitri is certainly a man who knows how to cultivate it and gain access to it.

his exes: ...i love mess. what can i say?

[nicolasbarra]

“ ––I must clothe myself in other worlds. ”

BASICS.

GIVEN NAME.     Nicolas Barra.          NICKNAME(S).     Nick,   Mr. Barra,   give him some more.          AGE.     Forty-seven   (   November 14,   1977   ).          PLACE OF BIRTH.     Paloma City,   Coronado.          THEME SONG.     We’ll Meet Again by Vera Lynn.          ORIENTATION.     Bisexual,  strong lean for women.          EDUCATION.     High school diploma,   favouring mathematics and metalwork.     Various physical and mental studies completed during his Marines training.          FAMILY.     When he was young,   he was a brother and a son.     He is now barely a memory.     The steamed breath that disappears into wintered air.          OCCUPATION.     Private assassin for the Del Bosque family,   doubling as a Fine Arts investor.     Former international faceless scythe   –   Death reincarnate,   forgoing the pale horse   –   bought by those desperate enough to kill without hands.     Previous to that,   an SAS Marine,   dishonourably discharged.

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

HEIGHT.     Six foot one,   185 centimetres.          EYES.     Almost black with flecks of brown-life,   like wet soil at the foot of a yellow plant.          HAIR.     Grey plume bifurcating his black crown of hair.     Lush and thick despite his age,   gelled into place.          GENDER IDENTITY.     Cis man   (   He   +   him   ).          BUILD.     Wide shoulders and longer legs.     All in light’s old trick:   making a swallower of a man.     A mere silhouette that the sun wouldn’t recognise.          RESIDENCE.     Some drab brown-brick apartment right at the heart of Paloma City.     Nocturnal by trade:   to watch and be watched.          TIME IN CORONADO.     Seven settled years.     Otherwise,   in and out his whole life.          MARKS OF NOTE.     His Mario moustache   +   little Elvira streak.     Strikingly dead gaze,   despite its penchance for dance around you and your simple possessions,   and straight white teeth.

PERSONALITY   +   BEHAVIOUR.

HOBBIES.     Carving right angles out of arches.     Amassing rice-clothed vinyl records upon his clean bookshelf,   comprised mostly of crooners from the twenties to sixties.     The ear he has for any aged tune:   this love,   passed from his father’s failed dream.     Catching the tail-end of a symphony.     Applause as the prime aftermath of a perfect melody.     Habitual whistler,   wrongly mirroring his father’s songbird chords.     Strategy games like chess or blackjack:   math in all its forms.     Finding a good cut of meat.     Reposing,   wrist-locked,   at the periphery of art’s shadow.     Hunting,   post-twin’s death.          LIKES.     Counting any set of fingers:   the prints he leaves upon another’s skin;   humming to test the acoustics,   and the low rumble of a restored mustang;   seeing the city’s red-rimmed,   glassy gaze in the overflowing drains;   watching the moon,   and the path it lights for him to follow.          DISLIKES.     A tool with no use:   a bullet with no trajectory;   deep snow packed with ice and watched by icicles:   living red cheeks that lift,   unseen,   to dead red cheeks;   the songs crickets sing;   poorly disposed viscera.          QUIRKS.     Moods descend upon him like clouded light.     An eternal morbid humour.          STRENGTHS.     There will be no grave left un-dug when he’s on the job.     Dogged in his need for tied ends.          WEAKNESSES.     Narrow focused on the end goal,   like dilated pupils seeing blood droplets from miles away.     Needlessly brutal:   no want to stop or continue.     He simply exists,   as violence.          LOVE LANGUAGE.     A giving heart,   for the benefit of a later date,   in his acts of service and,   at times,   offering gifts.          MORAL ALIGNMENT.     Lawful Evil,   bad to the bone.

CHARACTER INSPIRATION.

Lalo Salamanca,   Better Call Saul.     Jacob Seed,   Far Cry Series.     Anton Chigurh,   No Country for Old Men.     Mr. Blonde,   Reservoir Dogs.     Niko Bellic,   GTA IV.     Jacket,   Hotline Miami.     Travis Bickle,   Taxi Driver.     Jason Voorhees,   Friday the Thirteenth.     Raoul Silva,   Skyfall.     A prickly shadow emerging from the woods,   revealing a human face and its reddened eyes;   prey skeletons silkening in snake stomachs;   holding a dying man by his shoulder and breathing in his final exhales;   a reflection that won’t face you,   chasing a winter-fed phantom limb.

BACKGROUND.

Before you,   there is shattered light.     Stardust scraped across the night sky like pollen trickling from a bee’s back.     Your brother’s eyes,   and their lichenous accord.     And then there is you.     This is how an epoch begins.     How a monsoon melts mud into a river.     The meat within molten,   marbling hands.     July pecks another kiss upon your brow,   pocked with this deep red   –   the shades of forgotten pork   –   every night.     The maw of hate laid upon your eye:   a stye that persists until it taints your gaze.     Reddened skies.     Blackened houses.     What your own flesh,   your own blood shucks.     Pillowed by new muscle;   pelted in a different skin.     The mis-evolved:   torn by the cracks that should’ve stopped their births.     In another translation,   this is your mother.     Down to the sinews,   this is something you know.     And yet,   the word July flocks in droves around her face like a floral candle that meets the morning horizon.     In her,   there is anything but hate.     In you,   there is nothing but hunger.

August hears a sharp ballad:   your cleaver hitting the juice-soaked wooden board.     A bouncing whistle,   cheapened by your rusted scent.     Your father bore the greater vocals,   cheapened by his need to wear fine black netting,   not wrought silk and pure cotton.     He who is broken at the hinge,   like a butcher who will not bypass his father.     What use remains for a man who fears his own ambition?     You love him,   regardless,   for the voice that bobs around his shop.     For the blood and warbled chords you share.     A songbird who won’t sing   ––   have you ever heard the like?   Those attracted would be more than predator.     It would be man.     They would dream your dreams for you.     Count the stars that you will not look up to see.     Hum a familiar tune   –   and oh,   how supine you become in their warm embrace   –   and let you fly away,   wondering how they could’ve known what comforts you.     September leers at bustling nests,   precarious in that thinning tree.     The season bodes better for the caves,   for the birds that look beyond their home.     You know the blood-trail a patched wing leaves.     The hunger that sees a desperate flock in a strained bird.     Another bored whistle,   and the beef is ready.     Boned,   rolled,   and tied.     Like your father taught you.

October mourns the twin that you were,   with a showered song and a flower that fought Autumn’s rot.     Twelve minutes.     Now the rest of your life without your other.     And what for?     A dropped penny.     Their pallid body slatted below the grated floor of a staling fire escape.     The accident waiting to happen that you call,   my other half.     Not chosen,   but given all the same.     As fated,   the blood does not pump harder or faster to your heart.     One wouldn’t know that you,   now,   walk alone on your snowed path.     You were made to exclude.     To inhale ease,   and exhale dread.     The soldier’s lament:   a son cursed by his father’s redless wants.     A thirst that precedes you,   and your father,   and maybe his father too.     November watches,   from your shoulder’s vantage,   the pink-skinned doe you will hold by the scruff,   like your father should’ve done with you.     But then,   you wear an army’s leathers until your lieutenants forget themselves.     Hear voices among the gunfire.     See trodden faces within the country mudslides.     His memory,   and yours,   costs you that uniform.     What follows is only natural.     Your rhythm is for you alone.     Heard only under moonlight;   your hum prickles the air like flickering stars.     The old hymn in your heart.     I SEE,   I WANT,   I EAT.

KEY WORDS:     TWIN-LESS TWIN,  BUTCHER’S SON,  HARK  NOW  HEAR  THE  SHADOWS  SING.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

I  INVOKED  YOU.     There’s a dog at your feet.     It found you   –   by your scent,   or your heart’s thrumming call   –   as it always will.     His teeth are perfect for your needs.     Your wants are perfect for his deft  hands.

THE  SAME  SIN  BINDS  US.     Watch the moon try to peer upon wooded ground,   where red moistens the clumped soil beneath his feet.     One of you is a presage for the other.     One of you would kill the other.

HOW  WILD  IT  WAS.     You knew a rabid dog,   once,   that would bear his teeth without reason.     His mouth;  your throat.     There was something classic,   about you and him,   thereupon the barely lit pier.

[simone-montgomery]

Simone Montgomery, 35, has called Coronado home for all their life. As an investigative journalist at the Clarion News Network and Coronado Current, their world is steeped in dirty fingernails, quiet words in quieter corners, and sea salt on the wind. Often found pouring over notes and cursing at smudges in wet ink, they move through life with Glory and Gore by Lorde in their ear.

Full bio to come. Task 1.

Abbreviated timeline:

Born November 13th.

At sixteen, her father is killed during a Del Bosque delivery gone wrong.

At eighteen, she attends Coronado University on the Del Bosque's dime.

At twenty, she becomes one of the loudest guiding voices on campus while on the school's newspaper.

At twenty-two, she graduates with honors and accepts an internship at one of the smaller outlets under Du Bois Media.

At twenty-five, she's officially introduced to the Du Bois Underground scene.

At twenty-seven, she moves from her mother's home at The Wharf to Row's End to be closer to the center of the movement. Takes one of her mother's stray kittens, a gray and white tabby she calls Captain Galacticat.

Now at thirty-five, she and the Captain reside in Old Town where she sniffs out the roots of secrets she's both been assigned and uncovers, and helps to sow the dissent her bosses rely on.

Quick Facts:

Employment: Her press badges simply say Investigative Journalist for Clarion News and The Coronado Current. But her orders, both professional and moonlit, are given to her from the Du Bois family directly.

District Loyalties: Born and raised on The Wharf, started her service in Row's End, now resides at the Slotter Tenements in Old Town.

Allegiances: The Du Bois Family.

Possible Connections:

Informant-- In order for her to be successful at her job, her assignments (and her bosses) need a steady flow of information from wherever they can get it. So long as it's credible, Simone has been given a sizable slush fund to ensure no rumor is left unverified, and no whispers catch their armies off guard.

Revolutionary minds-- The revolution never stops growing. Never slows. It's the steady undercurrent of civilization, slowly flooding the island. But they know that, they've already broken dozens of dams to help the flood gain ground.

[river-masten]

River Alexander Masten, 28, has called Coronado home for all their life. As a professional, stay-at-home son (this man does not have a job), their world is steeped in metallic credit cards, bottomless bitter cocktails, and a top-to-bottom greige penthouse suite. Often found bouncing between offices, clubs, and apartments, they move through life with GET IT by keshi playing in their ear.

Click on the source link for his full bio + DM me @repunctuated on Discord for plots!

[josephine-iverson]

Josephine Marie “Joey” Iverson, 30, has called Coronado home for the past 17 years. As the owner and manager of Small Talk Café, their world is steeped in warm amber hues, silky jazz serenades, and the aroma of cinnamon spice-infused coffee. Often found crafting artisan brews and chatting with regulars, they move through life with Rubik’s Cube by Athlete playing in their ear.

Click on the source link for her full bio + DM me @repunctuated on Discord for plots!

[fumiko-shibata]

Fumiko Shibata, 28, has called Coronado home for all their life. As the Chief Communications Officer of YAMI Radio, their world is steeped in vintage radio microphones, monochrome silk scarves, and green tea-scented candles. Often found calibrating audio equipment and narrating cryptic dispatches over the airwaves, they move through life with Until We Bleed by Kleerup (with Lykke Li) playing in their ear.

Click on the source link for her full bio + DM me @repunctuated on Discord for plots!

[pyresung]

BALLAD OF THE SONGBIRD,   IN DEDICATION TO FAME AS THE COLDEST THING YOU’VE KNOW: GLIMMERING & EMPTY, BEAUTY AS THE CAGE YOU’VE TRAPPED YOURSELF IN, AND THE PEDESTAL AS A FRAGILE THING⸺ALWAYS TEETERING.

NAMED    ISHANI KAPAR.    KNOWN AS   ANA, MOST AFFECTIONATELY.    DOB    OCTOBER 27TH, THIRTY2 YRS OLD.    ORIGIN    SHIMLA, INDIA.    RESIDENCE    ALTERNATES BETWEEN AN IMPOSSIBLE CHIC VILLA PERCHED ON SOME ROCKED EDGE ALONG THE COAST, GLASS WALLED ON NEARLY FOR THE WOMAN WHO LOVES TO BE WATCHED & A SALCEDO PENTHOUSE.    GENDER    CIS WOMAN.    PRONOUNS    SHE/HER.     ORIENTATION   DEMISEXUAL.     OCCUPATION   PRIMA DONNA OF CORONADO GRAND OPERA, POLITICAL SPY.    FACECLAIM   SOBHITA DHULIPALA.   

INSPIRED BY     MARIA CALLAS ( MARIA ), EVE HARRINGTON ( ALL ABOUT EVE ), LINDA RADLETT ( THE PURSUIT OF LOVE ), THE MONSTROUS FEMININE, DAISEY BUCHANON ( THE GREAT GATSBY ), CATHERINE TRAMELL ( BASIC INSTINCT ).

HEIGHT    FIVE FOOT NINE INCHES.     HAIR    INKY BLACK, LONG ENOUGH TO COURSE DOWN HER BACK, TYPICALLY STYLED.     EYES    DARK BROWN, DOELIKE.     SCENT    WARM FLORAL, MUSK FORWARD WITH LAYERING OF IRIS & ALMOND.     DISPOSITION    SANGUINE.    POSITIVE TRAITS    INTREPID, ENRAPTURING, DEVOUT.     NEGATIVE TRAITS    OBSESSIVE, DELUSORY, UNFATHOMABLE.

BACKSTORY.

there is a woman in a glass house,   but there wasn’t always.

once,   you were just a girl with too much promise,   too much potential⸺though no one could say it to your face.   they loved you,   or so they claimed.   they adored you.   they placed their hopes in your voice,   in your presence.   you were an object of worship,   a glimmering myth draped in silk,   trained to be adored.   but when they looked at you,   really looked,   they didn’t see you.   they saw the echo of their own adoration.   their need for something beautiful,   something perfect,   something that could never betray them.

you were raised by a woman,   but not your mother.   your mother had been swallowed whole by the world long before you were old enough to understand what that meant.   the woman who raised you wasn’t particularly kind,   but she was disciplined.   she taught you the importance of beauty,   of restraint,   of suffering.   she told you that a voice like yours was a gift from the gods,   but only if you wielded it correctly.   only if you knew what to do with it.

so you learned.   you learned how to stand still and be looked at,   how to widen your eyes just enough to seem doe-like,   how to tilt your head as though you were listening,   engaged,   docile.   you learned how to smile even when your ribs ached from corsetry and hunger,   even when your shoes had carved blisters into your heels.   you learned how to hold a room without lifting a finger.

and it worked.   you became her,   the woman they all wanted.   the one they wrote about in newspapers,   in feverish gossip columns,   in memoirs penned by men who spent a single night with you and convinced themselves they knew something about your soul.   they watched you,   adored you,   devoured you.   and in return,   you let them.   you let them take and take and take,   because you had already learned there was nothing of you left to keep.

it made the other part easier.

no one questions a woman who exists to be adorned,   to be celebrated,   to be possessed.   you slipped through the rooms of the world’s most powerful men,   hands grazing the hems of your dresses,   lips murmuring soft,   perfumed words into your ear.   you let them think you were a fool,   an ornament,   a delicate thing.   but you were listening.   you were always listening.

you passed secrets in the space between breaths,   in the curve of a smile,   in the hollow pause before applause.   you let them think they owned you,   and in return,   you took what you needed.   their whispers,   their ambitions,   their lies.   you traded information like a currency,   pocketed the power they never thought you capable of holding.

and yet,   for all of it⸺the fame,   the worship,   the danger⸺you remain untouched.   unloved.   they will tell stories about you,   paint you in pastels and tragedy,   lament your loneliness as though it wasn’t of their own making.   they will call you mysterious,   unknowable,   divine.   but they will never know you.

you will never let them.   because the moment they do,   the illusion shatters.   and then?   the glass house falls.

HEADCANONS.

boasts the sort of celebrity where you either fall by the sway of public opinion or it is simply rendered a nonfactor. ishina is admittedly influenced by the former. she needs to be loved & seen & touched. is it too much to ask for a woman to want the world and then some?

perpetually hollowed out. which is to say that the poor thing is completely insatiable and will gorge on all aspects of life to fulfill herself. still, the hunger rumbles in her belly.

a bit caged, even as a woman. partly of her choosing because she's never quite known how to cross a threshold without asking for permission first.

seldom seen publically unless it is to do something profanely mundane like feel about the mango display at the local corner grocer. home body to the tenth power, her greatest splendor is from the comfort of her home; has been papped several times waving to those passing along the shore from one of the many windows of the Glass House™.

doesn't like to be talked about but loves to know whats being said about her. will habitually keep tabs on the columns she is so frequently named in.

spends too much time in the theatre. she's been performing her entire life, and has no idea how to stop. is unsure what she would do with herself if she had to. find her on the mezzanine in the dark or in her dressing room watching the brocade of flowers wilt themselves into an early death while she touches up her parfum.

[ren-wattanavekin]

Søren ‘Ren’ Wattanavekin, 31, has called Coronado home for all their life. As a surgeon at Coronado General Hospital and kagehito assassin, their world is steeped in cleaning blood off their hands every single day, a search of meaning, and staring at the dark circles under their eyes every morning. Often found walking around Coronado at night, they move through life with Experience by Ludovico Einaudi playing in their ear.

_____________________________________

Trigger warning: child abandonment, assassination, quite detailed description of death, blood.

I.

The first memory you can recall is the experience of how the cold can lick your bones & gnaw at your skin. It’s how you gasp for air, only for it to freeze your lungs — you’re not older than a year, and the falling snow is becoming a little too heavy for you to lift your fingers. That’s when you close your eyes, exhausted and hopeless. 

Sometimes, it all comes back to you in your dreams. Sometimes, you’re unsure if it really happened, or if it’s always been just a nightmare to follow you everywhere you go. You must’ve been too little to be aware of this one fateful night in the street, but you’ve heard many stories. You do celebrate your birthday in January — that’s when they found you & brought you back to life after countless nights of fever and rivers of medicine — it surely was a battle. They said it was the first sign you’d be a fierce fighter, too. 

II.

“You’re not good enough,” they said, and you felt a tear roll down your cheek. Just like everyone else, you go through the training – no questions asked. That's why you're here. And you’d never even dare to ask – you like it. It keeps you occupied, it makes you feel valuable – even in setbacks, you’d be happy to spend hours at the training ground, going through a task over & over again. But these words sting and you indeed felt a failure: not as good as everyone else, you might as well go back to the streets you came here from. 

You soon learn they’re not thinking about letting you go – they see something completely different in you. You’re calculated. Methodical. Meticulous. And while combat fighting might not be the perfect path to choose, there’s another place for you – clinical precision and a detached emotional distance. The greatest weapons you can wield. 

And you're not as bad as you think either. You pass every trial.

IV.

One more memory to keep you at night and confuse you in your drowsy state – your first kill. It was the first and, simultaneously, the last one to leave some spots of blood on the wooden floor. It wasn’t as clean as you wanted it to be, and you were scolding yourself in your mind and as you watched life disappear from their eyes.

You leave little room for error: even after they take their last breath, you still take a moment to check their pulse, assess the severity of their injury; you check the clock and make sure when’s the right time to leave – you’ve already planned this, and it means you must close the door behind you in twenty seconds. And you do, as well as lose the jacket of the hotel concierge.

No one ever thinks to suspect you, to think of you as a murderer — you’re a reputable surgeon, why would they think that? All of you who work at this hospital — you’re all a bit strange, especially surgeons. Your talent and smile disguises everything.

V.

The other side of you requires meticulous planning as well — it’s as if you purposefully chose the life of never ending checklists & preparations. After your first surgery, you stare at your hands, painted in red – you feel your colleagues touching your shoulders, congratulating you, but you’re focused on the blood, slowly dripping between your fingers. 

One of them – takes lives, another – brings them back to Earth. Every day, they both go through the same routine with some exceptions, because you always wanted to save people. Are these, who die because of your touch, considered human if they’re the destroyers of peace? It’s a thought you bring with you to bed, and, every night, it sleeps on the pillow next to you. 

_____________________________________

Headcanons:

Left in the streets of Coronado in the middle of winter, he was found by a couple of passers-by. For the first eleven years of his life, he lived in an orphanage, until he was taken by the Kagehito. He would always consider Kagehito elders as his parental figures and he'd never remember his time in the orphanage ever again.

He decided he’d become a doctor when he was fourteen, and would spend hours studying after he was done with training. Since his mentor noticed his talents and interests, his studious nature was being encouraged and, in a way, became a part of his training. 

Highly trained, skilled, & deadly – especially compared to an average person. However, when it comes to his assassination techniques, it requires meticulous planning & surveillance and doesn't really involve traditional weaponry. He uses his medical knowledge to get his targets killed in a way it’d seem to be a natural death — a heart attack or a stroke. Never leaves blood behind him. If needed, he can use his other skills too, but he never had to.  Not yet, at least. 

Has his own code of ethics and tries to target individuals whom he believes deserve punishment for their own crimes & actions. A bit of moral ambiguity, of course. Especially knowing it’s not always ‘the bad guys’ the Kagehito are asked to take care of. Call it brainwashing, if you will.

A survivor since childhood, to this day he’s still all about survival. However, he's recently started to grapple with the ethical implications of his actions, especially when there’s someone he’s already saved that has to be his next target.

Approaches his work with a sense of professionalism – both in the hospital as well as when it comes to the Kagehito matters. 

Sleeps way too little :’) Catch him roaming the streets of Coronado at night. 

Wanted connections:

His mentor. Up until now, Ren was a model Kagehito. Obedient to a t. However, something's happening - he's began raising questions. Well, he's not raising them out loud, not yet, but he might look different, and his mentor is probably not happy about it.

Someone who’s coming after him. Many reasons for it, one of them being that perhaps Ren assassinated someone close to them. I’d love this to be an antagonistic dynamic. 

Colleagues at the hospital. Obviously, they don't know about his involvement with the Kagehito – but does he seem odd to them because of his reluctance to speak about his childhood & youth? Is his mysterious and secretive nature quite weird to them? Possibly. Or maybe they’re fascinated? Maybe they don’t care? Lots of possibilities, I think! 

Other Kagehito. Are they close? Are they rivals? Do they annoy each other? Did they grow up together? Once again, lots of ideas! 

Friends, enemies, ex lovers, etc — anything and everything! Let’s plot!

[1coronado]

mw muse ideas that would fit the rp?

hi anon! this isn’t just for you—it’s a general announcement/provision too: if you’re struggling to find muse inspiration that fits coronado (which i totally get—the freedom to create any kind of oc within a “fixed” plot can be a double-edged sword!), you can check out our #coronadointro tag to see how some of our current muses are set up and what kind of vibe they have. some even have wanted connections in their intros, plus we’ve got a wanted connections page in our navigation!

and for real answers—I’d love more del bosque and du bois muses who are power-hungry and ready to clash with their family or take on their competition, along with more criminals under the du bois crime syndicate!