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visitationrpg · 7 years ago

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Congratulations, LOTTIE! You have been accepted for the role of Sofia Dixon. You have 24 HOURS to send in your account, and don’t forget to look over the CHECKLIST!

Note from Admin Sidney: This app was really one of my favorites, Lottie! Sofia has always been my baby, and I was really excited to see this vague idea of a girl surrounded by things she’s supposed to be, but still, she chooses her own path. And you understood that so well. I’m so excited to see her on the dash!

Welcome to Visitation!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME/ALIAS: Lottie

PRONOUNS: she/her/they/them

AGE: 23

TIMEZONE: Eastern

ANYTHING ELSE? One time, [REDACTED] told me she had a [REDACTED] [REDACTED]

IN CHARACTER:

WANTED SKELETON: Sofia Dixon

GENDER & PRONOUNS: cis woman, she/her

BIOGRAPHY:

Everything that anyone thinks they know about Sofia Dixon can be summed up by a couple of sentences and a few citations on her mother’s Wikipedia page. Her whole family history is spelled out there in unfeeling black and white. This is where her mother was born, these are her mother’s parents, this is where her mother went to school. This is when she signed her first record label. This is when she received a Grammy. And then, tragically, abruptly, this is how she died. “Debbie Dixon,” the page reads near the end, “died on November 15, 1995 at the age of 27, due to complications during labor and after giving birth to her only daughter.” Above all that there is a list of accomplishments, a series of various awards, a picture of Debbie Dixon smiling, radiating a kind of demure happiness that Sofia has only ever been able to find the shadow of when she looks in a mirror.

In comparison, Sofia’s own Wikipedia page features very little information, stating only that she currently attends Reed College where she helps produce a low budget youtube series by the name of Visitation. She also has her own channel with a modest following where she’ll post the occasional remix or mashup, but the channel isn’t associated with her real name. There are no accomplishments listed, there are no awards. There is no picture where she smiles like she is exactly where she wants to be. Since her mother’s death 23 years ago, the media has largely turned its eyes away from the Dixon family, especially when, as she grew older, Sofia never showed any interest in following up her mother’s legacy. Now, only Debbie Dixon’s most committed fans recognize who Sofia is. This is how Sofia would prefer it to remain.

Similarly, her father has always been a reserved, if not a very sweet and gentle, sort of man. He was never made to shine like Debbie was, more to reflect the warmth and light of those around him. After his wife’s death, he would have gone as dim and hollow as a used-up lightbulb if it weren’t for the fact that he was tasked with raising Sofia on his own. It was a close thing too, though not many outside the family know of this fact. When Debbie was in her hospital bed, already fading, Sofia came into the world quiet, her lungs filled with liquid. It was then that Sofia’s father learned the terrifying nature of silence, and even years later, when the danger had passed, he never did feel comfortable in the stillness of quiet moments. Sofia grew up in a house filled with music, with her mother’s voice crooning through the echoing halls. Throughout Sofia’s childhood her mother was a presence made up of the aching absence she had left behind, and to this day, Sofia can’t help but resent the distorted facsimile of her mother that the world pushes on her, demanding that she replicate Debbie Dixon’s nostalgia. It’s why she keeps any time in front of a camera to a minimum when she’s working on Visitation. The one hope that she has for the project is that it become so big, that when people associate her with anything it will be this, something so removed from her mother’s work that people will finally stop comparing her to a woman she’s never even met.

ANYTHING ELSE? This section is optional, but feel free to put any extra headcanons or writing/musing here!

- The monolith of her mother’s shadow means that Sofia has never been one to sing in public. She avoids the very idea of it, though that never stopped well-meaning teachers and tutors pushing her to join school choirs or attend talent shows. Even her father encouraged it until he saw how miserable the prospect made her, then he’d get that sad, longing look in his eyes that never really fully receded, and Sofia would feel the bitter guilt weigh heavy on her shoulders. He’d say he wasn’t disappointed, that he just wanted her to be happy—and maybe that was partially true—but what he really wanted, she was sure, was a daughter who could shine in the exact same way as her mother did, so that he could know part of her lived on. But Sofia can’t stand the thought of being a symbol or a vehicle for her dead mother’s memory. She just wants to be Sofia. And even still, when she’s alone, she’ll start to hum, and a feeling in her chest will grow, like some wild animal trying to escape a cage, and the voice that leaves her throat frightens her because it sounds like someone else’s.

- Thea was a distraction at first, someone that Sofia could get lost in because she was so unlike anyone she’d ever met before. Well, really, she’d met people like Thea before, but she was the first one Sofia had actually gotten to know instead of immediately dismissing her as a shallow socialite. Growing up the daughter to a famous musician, Sofia had had her fair share of encounters with spoiled kids who had their parents’ credit card numbers memorized, and Sofia had never imagined there’d come a day when she’d fall in love with one. She also never imagined that she’d be the one left feeling fractured and incomplete, crying openly under a mountain of blankets in her bedroom, by the end of their relationship, but life is apparently filled with surprises.

Also, here’s a shitty youtube playlist I threw together of songs Sofia probably likes: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWigCggVv2Y&list=PLaZ8O2c-5vTo9YC2TeC8LrimzzNwBTw2U

QUESTIONNAIRE:

DO YOU BELIEVE IN THE PARANORMAL?

She sighed, running a hand through her hair and looking off to the side. “When I was a kid, my dad used to… coincidentally find himself in the company of a lot of people who claimed to be psychics.” Her tone made it clear that whatever circumstances her father had found himself in with these people, she didn’t believe any of it had been coincidence. “He’d come home, and he’d be crying because they’d say things about how my mom was still here, in her own way, and that she loved him. One woman even claimed my mom was standing right behind him.” She paused. Her lips turned pale and thin as she pressed them together. “After that, when he thought I wasn’t there, I’d hear him talking to her. Having whole conversations with her.” A harsh breath suddenly left her as if it had been punched out of her and she laughed, shaking her head. “He never moved on. Never even tried to. I guess some people think that’s romantic. But the truth is, no one ever let him move on. All these psychics came to him and played on a weakness they could exploit until all he could think about was her ghost following him around.”

Finally, she turned back to stare directly at the question asker. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know if ghosts exist or not. Science usually has a pretty hard time proving a negative. But I do know the culture surrounding the paranormal is filled with exploitative bullshit, and if I have a chance to shed some light on that, then I will.”

HAVE YOU EVER HAD A PARANORMAL ENCOUNTER?

Sofia closes her eyes, remembers the feeling in her chest that fills her when she sings, like something reaching out of the chasm in her rib cage, sliding up her throat, trying to make itself known. She remembers that even though she is always alone when she sings, she never feels like the room is empty.

Sofia opens her eyes. “Not personally, no.”

IF YES, DID SAID ENCOUNTER CHANGE YOUR VIEWS ON THE PARANORMAL?

“Sometimes when I look at you, it feels like she’s staring back at me,” her father says, smiling from the driver’s side of the car. He isn’t looking at her now, which is a small mercy. He stares ahead of them at the forever-distant skyline. Sofia feels like she’s going to be sick, pretends it’s brought on by long hours on the road.

“But she’s not,” Sofia mutters back, tries to make herself sink into the passenger seat.

“There’s so much of her in you,” he insists. Sofia reaches down and pulls the lever that makes her seat go all the way back so that she’s staring up at the roof of the car.

“I’m taking a nap.” The rest of the trip is blissfully quiet except for the radio that plays no louder than a whisper.

IF NO, WHY NOT?

“Sometimes I feel like you hate her.” They’re in the kitchen, making dinner, and the smile falls off Sofia’s face, like it always does when her father tries to have this conversation with her.

“I don’t.” Her tone is crisp, clipped. She turns her back to him and goes back to stirring the sauce.

“She would have—” He stops himself. She can hear the emotion welling in his throat. An icy, numb feeling starts to spread throughout Sofia’s body. “She loves you so much. She wanted to be here to see you grow up.”

“Dad,” the word is spoken like a plea. How many times will they say these words before it’s enough? When are they allowed to be people separated from the tragedy of Debbie Dixon?

“I wish you’d known her.” He is so quiet now.

“Yeah.” She sighs. “Me too.”

The ghost of her mother lingers, never so far out of reach as to be ignored.

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