#no one plays with real people like dolls like oliver putnam

[theeminentlyimpractical]

I finally started watching Only Murders and oh my god why did no one tell me that Oliver Putnam would become another one of my Characters of All Time. he’s broke. he’s a spendthrift. he’s flamboyant. he’s straight. he has impeccable taste. he eats expired hummus with a fork. he tries to Music Man his way through life. he thinks he’s honest. all the world is his stage and he’s a terrible director. he refuses to learn from a single mistake he has made. the only thing limber about him is his mental gymnastics. he’s perfect I love him.

[be-side-my-self]

First watch of Season 4 of Only Murders In The Building (E4)

Rewatch of ONLY Murders In The Building to prepare for season 4:

<Part I> // <Part II> // <Part III> // <Part IIII> // <Part V> // <Part VI> // <Part VII> // <Part VIII>

<S4 E1> // <S4 E2> // <S4 E3>

This is no rewatch but my new posts can also easily be blocked because I'll continue to use #OMITBRewatch as a tag. I'll also tag #OMITBS4. While quoting, I use M, O, C for the main characters.

S4 E4

Again we start with a whistling sound

And the intro is like a horror movie

Who was the speaker? Is that a british accent?

I'm one of those lucky people that only have to get up at 07:30 on a workday.

Also Oliver is amazing, "Give me 10 minutes" and he instantly starts to snore. Well, old people need their sleep.

Did Mabel walk over in her sleeping clothes? Around the Arconia? Along the street? How is the West Tower connected???

So... cowboys, whistling, Portugal...

Oliver is spiraling.

O: "No, that is a one-way ticket to Cuck City, population: Putnam!"

Cuncussions is probably a bar.

It's a stuntman bar.

Oh! Trivia nights on thursdays! :D

O: "Susie, brightness down!" I am glad they didn't go "Siri, brightness down!" and everyone who watched it on their ipad would suddenly have a darker screen XD

Holy shit that bed is crazy and Howard is crazy too. I wonder what he is running away from? What is going on with Jonathan?

Aw, Howard :(

M: "Have you ever been to Hell's Kitchen?" C: "Yeah I have been eaten at Olivers." I love Mabels expression.

A fake IG account... with a complete backstory.

Who gave Oliver such a big ipad anyway? That is like 2k.

Mabel is dying a thousand deaths

... those stuntpeople are great.

Oh and it's an irish accent. Thank you subtitles!

Glen: "Or I was, till you fecker rubbed him out. " O: "Who feckers? Us feckers?" Glen: "All yas feckin' fecker took him from me!

Cheers! I'll drink to that.

That doll of a man?

Glen went crazy. ...

the CoBro poster in the background!

Glen is batshit but I like him.

... PLEASE HOWARD! That is obviously fake! There is no information on that flyer! What the fuck?? Don't get yourself in danger, Howard! Fame is not worth your life!

.... It was a real flyer. ARE YOU SHITTING ME?!

Josh Gad is playing Howard. Okay, I can see it.

Did the Brother sister just adopt Howard as a project?

Apparently they did.

Charles is getting cracked.

And a lot of guilt is within him.

... Hopefully we finally get some answers from the Westies.

Okay... it's about rent... let me go back to season one: “No one wants a murder podcast about real estate!”

Also the daughter having the hots for Rudy makes sense.

... what is this? Right kind of weirdo, wrong kind of weirdo... that is weird. Maybe even suspicious... not that they killed Sazz but they are still suspicious.

So, how many drinks does Charles has to lie on the pool table?

... omg they brake bottles on his head XDDD

Oh shit that was a real bottle and not sugar glass.

It's a real bar fight.

Glen: "Just like Sazz would have wanted."

Aw, a trampolin park :)

"The Sazz Pataki Impact Academy In Paradise, NJ -> 12 beautiful acres of jumping -> 36 1-2-person trampolines -> 12 family/group trampolines -> Food & games - fun for all ages! (owned & operated by a pro stunt person)

Bev is crazy... and that is probably not a real gun.

[gotatext]

 hello, its nora (she/her, gmt) n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam (she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck). raised in a farmhouse in vermont, big horse girl energy. very hungry for everything life has to offer. wakes up and smells the success in her blood. luvs the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. here is pinterest. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages but i might forget tho so pls message me x

application template.

『ELLE FANNING ❙ CIS-FEMALE』 ⟿ looks like ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM is here for HER JUNIOR year as a CLASSICS student. SHE is 21 years old & known to be RESILIENT, MAGNETIC, CALLOUS & PROUD. They’re living in PERKINS, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ NORA. 24. GMT. SHE/HER.

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake. 

proceed w caution, tw for death, drugs, alcohol, violence

the short form.

— studying classics cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus and writing about how all women in myth are literally forgotten. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into radcliffe but she made an impression.... like... super fast and in her sophomore year she was upgraded to perkins accomodation n a paid scholarship bcos i think the governors kind of expect to see her in the supreme court one day or.

—  born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years.

— very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french.

— studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin.

— isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

— pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive

— obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. very amy dunne in the way she expertly reinvents herself to suit her audience, when she wants to impress

— act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning.

— her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends –  probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

people who live in perkins n feel like they r constantly competing with one another to keep their place as one of the #elite only know each other from brief interactions in the lift or the canteen

honestly someone who is fully in love with her or crushing on her that she can just break would be sweet :/ or on the other hand someone she unexpectedly gets feelings for and actually wants to guage her own  eyeballs out bc of it

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

A SECRET SOCIETY !!! honestly i would die for a slug club esque thing in which the children of notable families are invited to dinners OR alma’s also an art forger, so maybe like a club of students set up to basically forge paintings and documents from the university special collections

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

         the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

         if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

         at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

         your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

         language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

         fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

         the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to radcliffe. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive. you feel like a god.

[silhouettesetawayfromtimeforever]

Common Audition Roles [List 1 (3/28/19)] Part I

Phantom of the Opera

Christine Daae:

(High Soprano, G#3-E6 (only goes up to C#6 live in most productions, including broadway)

A singer must be free (Nightingale)*, Children of the wind (Rags), yes my heart (Carnival), Seeing is believing [female solo cut] (Aspects of Love), The Finer Things (Jane Eyre), Inside Out (GGLAM)

Raoul:

(Legit baritone, G2-Ab4)

Asking for you (Do re mi), Her face (Carnival)*, I like you (Fanny), If I loved you* (Carousel), I do not know a day I did not love you (Two by two), People will say we’re in love (Oklahoma), Love to me (Light in the Piazza)

Phantom (Erik):

If I can’t love her (BATB), Lilly’s Eyes [or just about anything Neville or Archie sing] (Secret Garden)*, If I loved you (Carousel), look at Frank Wildhorn’s shows (Jekyll & Hyde, Dracula, Scarlet Pimpernel), Martin Guerre

Firmin/André/Buquet/Male Ensemble:

It must be so (Candide), C’est Moi (Camelot)*, War is a Science (Pippin)*, Any Gilbert & Sullivan patter Song (a la Modern Major General from Pirates of Penzance)*

Carlotta:

Art is calling me (The Enchantress)*, They Won’t let you in the Opera, The Finer Things (Jane Eyre), Glitter and be Gay (Candide), By Strauss (Gershwins), The Glamourous Life [As a solo for Desiree, look at version on Renée Fleming’s Broadway album] (A little night music), Any big comic high soprano aria like Quando m’en Vo (La Boheme) or The Doll Song (Les Contes de Hoffman)*

Piangi/Male Ensemble:

It must be so (Candide), C’est Moi (Camelot), any big high comic tenor aria like ale Donna e Mobile (Rigoletto), La Fille du Regiment,

Meg Giry/Female Ensemble:

The beauty is (Light in the Piazza), Dear Friend (She loves me), Why not me (Carrie), hold on, the girl I mean to be or Come to my garden* (Secret Garden), some things are meant to be (Little Women), yes my heart (Carnival), The glamorous life [Frederika solo-movie] (a little night music)

Mme Giry/Female Ensemble:

When there’s no one (Carrie), I read* or Loving you (Passion), will you* (Grey Gardens), Dividing day or Let’s walk (Light in the Piazza)

Les Miserables:

Jean Val Jean:

At the fountain*-SSOS, Soliloquy* (Carousel), Something was missing-Annie, if I can't love her-BATB, close every door-Joseph, now there is no choice-Jekyll & Hyde, I’m Martin Guerre*– Martin Guerre, no other way (Tarzan), the impossible dream, where in the world (Secret Garden), This Is The Moment (Jekyll&Hyde) , Being Alive (Company) , Finishing the Hat (Sunday in the Park)

Javert:

Falcon in the dive (Scarlet Pimpernel), soliloquy* (carousel) molasses to rum (1776) Kim’s nightmare (miss Saigon), nowhere left to run (amazing grace), anthem* (chess), look at Jekyll&Hyde

Bishop:

Pilate’s dream (JCS), Sweeney Todd/Turpin’s stuff, molasses to rum* (1776), Rains of Castamere* (Game of Thrones), Ol’ Man River (Show boat)

Marius:

il Mundo era vuoto, On the Street Where You Live” from My Fair Lady, Into the Fire *– Scarlet Pimpernel, Lily’s Eyes- Secret Garden, This is the Moment – Jekyll and Hyde, Why God* from Miss Saigon

Enjolras & students:

Private Conversation*, You Should Be Loved, The Devil You Know from Side Show, Why God” ** from Miss Saigon, I’ve Heard It All Before from Shenandoah, Guido’s Song* from Nine, I, Don Quixote from Man of La Mancha

Thenardier:

Guido’s Song (Nine), Reviewing the Situation* or pick a pocket or two– Oliver!, The American Dream (miss Saigon), molasses to rum* (1776)

Mme Thenardier:

Naughty Baby – Crazy For You, Deep Down Inside from Little Me, Loud from Matilda, Leave You *– Follies, Little Girls from Annie, Wherever He Ain’t from Mack and Mabel, Whatever Happened to My Part from Spamalot, Fine Life* from Oliver

Fantine:

Where is it written from Yentl, Heaven Help My Heart– Chess, Someone Like You– Jekyll and Hyde, Could We Start Again Please - J.C. Superstar, Aldonza* – Man La Mancha, Unusual Way - Nine, The Movie in the Mind- Miss Saigon, Your Daddy’s Son or Back to Before* - Ragtime, Forgiveness- Jane Eyre, Loving you (Passion)

Eponine:

A New Life* from J&H,What Kind of Fool Am I from Stop The World I Want to Get Off, Why Can’t I Speak? from Zorba, I Don’t Know How to Love Him - J.C Superstar, They Say It’s Wonderful - Annie Get Your Gun, As Long as He Needs Me - Oliver!, Hold On - The Secret Garden, With One Look— Sunset Boulevard, Back to Before - Ragtime, Stranger to the rain (Children of Eden), Loving you (Passion), unexpected Song or tell me on a Sunday (Song & dance)*

Cosette:

Happiness (Passion), Light in the Piazza — The Light in the Piazza, Come to My Garden – The Secret Garden, Embraceable You – Crazy for You, Falling In Love with Love – The Boys from Syracuse, Finer Things – Jane Eyre, Unusual Way* - Nine, My White Knight – The Music Man, Children of the wind (Rags), yes my heart* (Carnival), unexpected song* (Song & dance), tell me why (amazing grace), A TON of stuff from My Life with Albertine

Lil Cosette:

There’s more to life from Ruthless, The girl I mean to be* from Secret Garden, my lord and master (the king and I)

Gavroche:

Consider yourself or where is love from Oliver, Wick* from Secret Garden, Edgar’s stuff in Ragtime, Not while I'm around (Sweeney)

Urinetown:

Bobby:

Sit Down You’re Rockin’ The Boat*, Married” from Cabaret, Any of the prince’s songs from Once Upon A Mattress., Something From a Dream from Bridges of Madison County “My Unfortunate Erection” from The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee and If You Were Gay from Avenue Q, My Bobby when I did it sang Out there from Hunchback & What do I need with Love* (TMM)

Cladwell:

The Legacy** from On The Twentieth Century}, Married from Cabaret, molasses to rum* (1776), dance with me, darling-Bat Boy,

Lockstock:

The Legacy and I've got it all from On The Twentieth Century, all I care about is love (Chicago), molasses to rum* (1776), me (BATB), You deserve a better life or private conversation from Side Show, The Way it ought to be (Tale of 2 cities), as good as you (Jane Eyre), dance with me darling* (Bat boy)

Hope:

Make Believe-Show Boat*, A home for you-Bat boy, Daddy's Girl (Grey Gardens), Goodbye little dream goodbye (Cole Porter), Goodnight My Someone – Music Man, Ribbons Down My Back – Hello Dolly, When I Marry Mr. Snow – Carousel, A Change In Me – Beauty and the Beast , A New Life – Jekyll & Hyde, It Might As Well Be Spring – State Fair, They Say It’s Wonderful – Annie Get Your Gun, Delishious - Nice Work If You Can Get It**

Pennywise:

What Ever Happened to my Part*- Spamalot(my Penny sang this), Anything that Ms. Strict* from Zombie Prom sings, Little Girls from Annie but that’s kinda overdone, A New Argentina - Evita , Morning Person- Shrek, Mr. Right from Triumph of Love, Down in the Depths on the 90th Floor-Cole Porter,

Little Sally:

My Party Dress from Henry and Mudge, “Disneyland*” from Smile, What It Means to be A Friend from 13 the Musical, “My Friend The Dictionary” or “The I Love You Song” from Spelling Bee, “It’s a Perfect Relationship*” from Bells Are Ringing, A Home for You from Bat Boy, “Where In The World Is My Prince” from Miss Spectacular, “Change” from A New Brain, Calm (Ordinary Days), Little known facts (You're a good man, Charlie Brown)

Other female featured/Ensemble (Ma Strong, Becky, etc):

Disneyland” from Smile, A Home for You or Inside your heart from Bat Boy, A Change In Me – Beauty and the Beast, It’s a perfect relationship (Bells are ringing), Change* (A new brain), Life upon the wicked stage (show boat), Feelings (The Apple Tree), unexpected song (song and dance), They won’t let you in the Opera, A lot of jazz songs (Cole Porter in particular), a TON of Judy’s stuff* and Penthouse apartment from Ruthless!

Other male featured/Ensemble (Harry, McQueen, etc):

Any of the prince’s songs from Once Upon A Mattress., Dance with me darling** or let me walk among you (Bat boy), Rooster’s song* (Annie), look at comedy songs from Kurt Weill*, Cole Porter, Gershwins

Rent:

Mark:

I’m Not That Guy*, Public Life, or The Saddest Song from Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson, Amazing Journey, Sensation, or I’m Free from The Who’s Tommy, I’m One or Is It In My Head from Quadrophenia, I’m Alive from Next to Normal, I who have nothing (Lieber & Stoller), Freedom 90 (George Michael), Can't get enough of your love Babe or my first my last my everything (Barry White), 6th Ave heartache (The Wallflowers), Know your enemy* or favorite son (Green Day)

Roger:

Don’t do Sadness* from Spring Awakening, Louder than words” or “See Her Smile" from Tick, Tick…Boom}, Iris (Goo goo dolls)

Collins:

Can't get enough of your love Babe* (Barry White), Can't make you live me (Bonnie Rait), real life** (Tick tick boom), old man river, bui doi (miss Saigon), Empty chairs

Angel:

Wig in a box* (Hedwig), stuff from Jersey Boys, Don't let me go (Shrek), Great balls of fire, a bunch of Bowie & Queen* songs, look at Kinky boots

Benny:

Favorite son* (Green day), I'll be here (Wild Party), let it sing** (Violet)

Mimi:

Saturday Night in the City from The Wedding Singer, Bring the Future Faster** from Rooms, Safe in the City from Taboo, It Won’t Be Long Now from In The Heights, Come To Your Senses* from Tick Tick …. Boom (May be overdone at Rent, but great for her)

Joanne:

Easy to be hard (Hair), Come to your senses, safe in the City, when you're good to mama (Chicago), My Strongest Suit (Aida)},,you had me (Joss Stone), something bad or i'm breaking down** [the end reminds me of we’re ok!](Falsettos), random black girl* (homemade fusion)

Maureen:

Easy To Be Hard from Hair, The Life of the Party** from The Wild Party, My Strongest Suit from Aida, Special from Avenue Q, My friend got the role with Ireland* from Legally Blonde (and play it up like Over the Moon), Acid Queen from Tommy, Touch-A-Touch-A-Touch Me from Rocky Horror, need a lover (Pat Benatar), let me come home* (Wedding Singer)

Male Ensemble:

I who have nothing (Lieber & Stoller), Freedom 90* (George Michael), Can't get enough of your love Babe or my first my last my everything (Barry White), 6th Ave heartache (The Wallflowers), Know your enemy or favorite son* (Green Day)

Female Ensemble:

Call from the Vatican (Nine), Saturday Night in the City from The Wedding Singer, “Come to Your Senses” from Tick tick boom (probably will be suuuppper overdone at a rent audition, Safe In the City” from Taboo, Look at The Who’s Tommy, I Will Prevail from Wonderland, Forever from Shrek the Musical, Anything Natalie sings in Next to Normal… or just any female song in that show, My Strongest Suit from Aida (only really good for Maureen), The Dark I know Well is overdone but good

Grease:

Sandy:

How Lovely to be a woman (Bye bye birdie), Anything Toffee sings in Zombie Prom**, happy to keep his dinner warm, love me tender or there's always me (all shook up)}, Lonely pew (Reefer Madness) Someday (Wedding Singer), you don't have to say you love me (Dusty Springfield), Inside you heart* from Bat Boy

Danny:

how can I say goodbye* (Zombie Prom), Mary Jane/Mary Lane (Reefer Madness), I don’t want to (all shook up), it takes two (hairspray), One last kiss (bye bye birdie), serve yourself (pump boys and dinettes), Edgar’s part *of Comfort and Joy [i have kind of a weird solo cut that could do the trick] (Bat Boy), look at Crybaby

Rizzo:

Spanish rose, I don't know how to love him, big spender (sweet charity), one night with you *(All shook up), nobody's side (Chess), you don't have to say you love me** (Dusty Springfield)

Marty/Female Ensemble:

A teenager in love* (Return from the forbidden planet), fools fall in love (all shook up), change (a new brain), an English teacher (Bye bye birdie)}, whatever Lola wants (damn Yankees), stuff from Bonnie&Clyde, you don't have to say you love me, wishing and hoping*, or Son of a Preacher Man (or anything she's done, really (Dusty Springfield), a tonnn of female stuff from Bat Boy, look at Shout! A Mod Musical, a lot of pop songs of the 50s and 60s.

Kenickie/Male Ensemble:

Stuff from catch me of you can, All shook up, me (BATB), a tonnn of Male stuff from Bat Boy, Jersey Boys, Footloose, a lot of pop songs of the 50s and 60s. Earth angels (crew cuts)

Legally blonde:

Elle:

Fly, Fly, Away” - Catch Me If You Can , “Fly Into the Future**” - Vanities, “On My Way” - Violet, “How to Return Home” - Tales from the Bad Years}*

Emmet:

Freeze Your Brain” - Heathers, Wouldn't it be nice or I'll be here (Wild Party), Purpose (Ave Q), Marry me a little * Company), my next story (Glory days), They say it's wonderful (Annie Get Your Gun)}, let me walk among you (Bat boy), it took me awhile (John & Jen)

Warren:

Freeze Your Brain” - Heathers}

Wouldn't it be nice (Wild Party), The Green (Wedding Singer), Bye Room (John & Jen)

Vivienne/Brooke:

Candy Store” or “Beautiful” - Heathers, Pop!”- The Wedding Singer, Miss Byrd” -Closer Than Ever}

Margot, Pilar & Serena:

You’ve Got Possibilities”, “Getting Ready” - 13}

Pr. Callahan:

The pinstripes are all they see (Catch Me if you can), all I care about is love (Chicago), Sweet Charity,

Paulette:

Shy” - Once Upon a Mattress, “What Ever Happened to My Part” - Spamalot, “A Little Brains A Little Talent” - Damn Yankees , “As We Stumble Along” - The Drowsy Chaperone, The same old music** (Vanities), I ain't got time (Zanna don't), plain Jane fast ass (bare), Get out and stay out, change* (a new brain)

Kate & Female Ensemble:

Someday*- The Wedding Singer, Let’s Hear it for the Boy- Footloose, Mixtape- Avenue Q, Once Upon a Time- Brooklyn: The Musical, Cute Boys With Short Haircuts* or The Same Old Music or Fly Into the Future from Vanities

Grandmaster & Male Ensemble:

it takes two (hairspray), look at bring it on, Charlie’s stuff* kinky boots

[randomfactsandinfo-blog]

Bridget Bishop: The First Victim of the Salem Witch Trials

The Salem Witch Trials took place from February 1692 and May 1693 in Salem Town, Massachusetts, which is now called “Danvers,” because hanging innocent people is bad for real estate. The Court of Oyer and Terminer (translated to “to hear and decide”) tried and executed 20 people in total, 14 being women and 6 being men. All of them died by hanging, except for one, which was pressed with rocks. 5 people died in prison, including two infants.

The trials started when a multitude of people were accused of witchcraft by a group of teen girls, including Elizabeth Hubbard and Abigail Williams; the latter of which was a 11 year old niece of the Reverend Samuel Parris.

The first to be tried and convicted was Bridget Bishop, who was 59 or 60 at the time of her death. She was the subject of much gossip among the wives of the town, for she was the antithesis of what a Puritan woman should be, which certainly did not help her case. She married three times, and had gone to court for fighting with them in public. She was very outspoken and opinionated. Divorce was a huge no-no in Puritan society, and so was openly disagreeing with a man. Like, ever. She was kind of promiscuous by Puritan standards. She had male company late at night, was a heavy drinker, and even owned her own tavern. She played shuffleboard, a game which was forbidden. She was accused of corrupting the children, which is honestly goals. She dressed differently than every other woman in the village, wearing read tunic. Over a decade before the trials, in 1680, she had been charged and cleared of witchcraft.

A warrant was issued for Bishop’s arrest on April 18, 1692, accused of bewitching Abigail Williams, Ann Putnam Jr., Mercy Lewis, Mary Walcott, and Elizabeth Hubbard, whom she never met or even heard of before—she had the most accusers than any other victim of the trials. The girls claimed that a phantom of Bishop would punch, choke, and bite them, and one stated that Bishop threatened to drown her if she did not sign her name in the Devil’s Book. During the trial, she would look at one of her accusers and they’d have a fit, and only her touch would revive them. She was also accused of murdering her second husband, Thomas Oliver, with witchcraft. Samuel Shattuck claimed that Bishop hexed his child, and hit him with a shovel. John and William Bly testified that they found witch dolls (also known as poppets) in her house, and poisoning their cat after a disagreement. If you thought your in-laws blew, her brother-in-law said she stayed up all night talking with satan. They even accused her of having a third nipple.

She was hanged on June 10 at Gallows Hill, her last words being, “You will keep silent.” Not even one year after her death, her husband remarried Elizabeth Cash. What a dick.

It is arguable that Mrs. Bridget Bishop not only died of hanging, but was a victim of the times, theocracy and sexism.

[almarchive]

   hello, its nora n this is the ethereal but spoiled alma olive putnam. she goes by all 3 names cos she’s pretentious as fuck. raised in a farmhouse in vermont, never really had to work for anything in her life and doesn’t want to. studying class civ cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into lockwood. loves the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages. i might forget tho so pls message me x

application template.

( elle fanning  / cis-female ) haven’t seen ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM around in a while. the ELLE FANNING lookalike has been known to be TENACIOUS & MAGNETIC, but SHE can also be FANCIFUL & DOUBLE-CROSSING. The 20 year old is a SOPHOMORE majoring in CLASSICS. I believe they’re living in FIDELIS but I popped by earlier and no one answered the door. ( nora. 23. gmt. she/her. )

aesthetics.

a red beret nestled on top of bright platimum locks, neck scarves tied around your throat the way they do it in french new wave films, running barefoot through the woods in feckless hedonism, china dolls with porcelain faces lined against the walls of your room, the mona lisa smile, knee-socks tugged over the hockey grazes on your knees, a forged botticelli drying on your easel, ophelia floating in the middle of a lake.

connection to tatiana & did they choose her name during the watershed?

alma saw her as academic competition and a threat to her de jure throne. in freshman year, tatiana got the role alma auditioned for in a university production. she’s disliked her ever since. alma abslutely chose tatiana’s name, and she’d do it again without hesitating. [that vine voice] I WON’T HESITATE, BITCH

the short form.

—  born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immigrant and worked on a plantation, made his way up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had large personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit wise beyond her years. — very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french. — studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin. — isn’t a foward-planner, however. alma prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night. — pretentious motherfucker. loves poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very intelligent and beautiful and knows both of those facts. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. petty and vindictive — just wants to be loved by all. a party girl ; doesn’t rlly enjoy it, jst feels she should enjoy it. — tries to be an enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women desirable and interesting and cool. — obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning. — her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee-high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramophone because “the sound quality is better” kfdsjj.

plots.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends –  probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

people who live on the same floor and only know each other from brief interactions in the lift or the canteen

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

full biography.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

           the girl is a knife. razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. you’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. a mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. to have the power to control that is to be a god. it’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. you cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “mama, when will i be a queen?” as soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

           if you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? in the beginning, you never knew hunger. twins, born under the same star, you first, him second – a nuclear family. never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. white-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. the townhouse in vermont and the summer house in lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

           at eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

           your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather wolfgang hildegarde a german immigrant, great-grandmother maura lisbon a prairie girl. they fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the indians, vacations to calcutta, your father todd putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. he worked hard so that you’d never have to. your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? that blood money had no business raising a child. you look far back enough, edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a civil war to silence, and i think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

           language was never fickle on your tongue, french dinner time talk by the time you were out of your hush puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. you learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. by eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. that was how magnetic you wanted to feel. but mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to english boarding school.

           fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. you were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. tell us what it’s like in the states, alma. they’d coo, enamoured by your hollywood drawl. does your father own a gun? you hardly knew. barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. when you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

           the road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to small-town fame. bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. there was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. in leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were helen of troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. but there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. hockey helped. there was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. sweat. stiff knuckles. feet pounding the earth. the smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “slipped, sorry.” hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. on the pitch, you feel alive.

[almarchive]

     hello, its nora bringing yet another problematic character. this is a spoiled daddy’s bitch, raised in a farmhouse in vermont, who’s never really had to work for anything in her life and doesn’t want to. studying class civ cos she thinks it makes her sound smart, but actually hates fuckin latin and just loves learning about feckless hedonism and the festivals of bacchus. was expelled from princeton in her first year so her parents basically paid her way into lockwood. loves the smell of libraries and listening to french music from a tinny record player in knee socks. has a twin brother called otto who is basically guy bellingfield from the riot club and tbh knowing my lack of self control i‘ll probs end up bringing him here too.

bio is below the cut, like this post to be bombarded with plotting messages x

it might be HER SOPHOMORE year but I still think ALMA OLIVE PUTNAM looks exactly like ALICE PAGANI and sometimes I think the FEMALE is actually them. Of course I’m wrong, as they’re 20 and studying CLASSICAL CIVILISATION while living in AUDAX here at Lockwood. The TAURUS can be rather TENACIOUS and MAGNETIC, but also kind of FANCIFUL and DOUBLE-CROSSING. Their most played song on Spotify was LAISSE TOMBER LES FILLES by FRANCE GALL, so I think that says a lot.

THE SHORT FORM.

—  born in vermont in a big old farmhouse. her great-great-grandfather moved to america as an immagrant and worked on a plantation, made his wa up cos he could speak a lot of languages and therefore win more people over. for the last two generations, putnam men have owned the farm and do little of the dirty work. big in the meat industry.

— both her parents had Large Personalities, so alma’s never really been shy around adults, even as a kid she’d speak to them in a forthright, confident manner, and because she was always surrounded by adults, she’s always seemed a bit Wise Beyond Her Years. — very much a consolidation of every character in the secret history. has a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs. obsessed with w.h. auden and the beat poets. — ”aestheticism is the only thing worth pursuing and even that is pointless” — is majoring in classical civilisation. can read ancient greek and latin. also speaks french. — studies hard and plays hard. she gets top marks but it’s because academia is literally her life, she loves the smell of libraries, the ancient smoke of learning, of feeling like old wine in a new bottle reincarnated from the bones of some old, dead witchy woman who invented a cure for cowpox or somethin. — isn’t a foward-planner, however. frida prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manner so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenaline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night. — pretentious motherfucker. LOVES poetry, especially the romantics, loves morbid ones too, edgar allen poe, sylvia plath, allen ginsberg, she just loves them all. can’t get enough. her favourite films are like…. wanky artfilm independent european cinema. especially french new wave. “what do you think of goddard’s work??” while snorting a line off someone’s sink at 5am on a school night, but you can bet she’ll make it to that 9am class. — very Intelligent and Beautiful and knows both of those facts. vocal feminist. soapbox sadie. Very Passionate about Issues. plays devil’s advocate. humanitarian, vegan. — judgemental but takes great care not to appear so. — just wants to be Loved By All. a party girl ; doesn’t rlly enjoy it, jst feels she Should enjoy it. — tries to be an Enigma. wants to be mysterious and unreadable because that’s what books have taught her makes women Desirable and Interesting and Cool. — obsessively devours mystery and thriller novels. she herself is a gillian flynn book waiting to happen. — act like the flower but be the serpent under it. is a user. manipulative. leads people on. will throw another student under the bus to demonstrate her own intelligence and integrity — heavily involved in the theatre society. loves attention. — has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive, runs track, played lacrosse at school, now is a cheerleader probably. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning. — her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk. — relates to ophelia from hamlet and sibyl vane in dorian gray. weirdly obsessed with women who commit suicide. loves jackson pollock paintings and abstract art. – likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramphone because “The Sound quality is Better” kfdsjj.

PLOTS.

here are some generic wanted plots but by all means message me so we can flesh them out more if any strike ur interest:

study buddies !! someone who is equally unprepared and so spends all night in the library with alma before a big deadline, maybe they even met in the library

if they’re from new england or vermont, then cousins . second cousins / extended family / family friends –  probably spat volavons on your character once as children, omg childhood friends !

people who live on the same floor and only know each other from brief interactions in the lift or the canteen

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sporting or academic rivalries !

hockey / cheer friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

fellow academics who like meeting up to discuss latin and greek ! gimme a secret society bonding by their love of ancient learning

i reckon she’s in a lot of societies, definitely the film club, maybe works as a projectionist at the uni cinema if they have one so give me ppl affiliated with that, give me fellow wanky pretentious art-lovers and poets and historians who will go to museums and galleries with her and listen to the velvet underground on vinyl

people she gets mortally fucked off her tits with at parties

people who think she is throwing her academic potential away by caving to hedonistic impulse

people she has drunkenly made out with, hooked up with, or regularly sleeps with casually, maybe even a friend w benefits she is repressing feelings for, i love angst,

people she used to date or unrequitedly likes, but to them it’s just a physical thing, give me all the thirsty angst plots, and maybe some softness too, i need some religion in this girls life, she is a roman catholic after all

FULL BIOGRAPHY.

alma olive putnam.

intro.

            The girl is a knife. Razor-sharp, double-edged, the bright shine of a two-faced, lovely thing. Silver like the secrets you magpie thief from other heads. You’re a scavenger of knowledge, of tidbits, of gossip to lock away for later use and late-night re-inspection. A mind is like a clock if you get to learn the pieces. Bit by bit, you dismantle the inner workings of the brains that tick around you – how easy it is to change it’s path, how words and their meanings can make a person laugh or cry in an instant. To have the power to control that is to be a God. It’s the power trip you crave wielding pom-poms in your hands; a possessive need for control that a younger you, small and weak, never had as a child. Small lips, smaller smile, a doll clutched in your too-hungry fingers, hard enough to shatter the bones of a real infant. You cut your hair with your mother’s kitchen scissors before the autumn falls, rendering you out of season, unfit for the cold weather that beats against the nape of your neck, where a stick-and-poke marks the star you were born under ; the bull. “Mama, when will I be a Queen?” As soon as they find a crown small enough not to slip from your head.

biography.

            If you get hungry enough, they say, you start eating your own heart. Hands red, stained by pomegranate seeds, the empty pulp of its shell splattered on your thighs you find yourself wondering – what would it be like to want? In the beginning, you never knew hunger. Twins, born under the same star, you first, him second -- a nuclear family. Never a sister to compete with, you were always the cherry pie of your parents’ hearts. Raven-haired, blue-eyed, beautiful baby of mine. The townhouse in Vermont and the summer house in Lyon, you wanted for nought, showered with attention, saddled with gifts - hardly a wonder you came to rely on such affection as a confirmation of your own worth.

            At eight years old you first met death, blood on a gingham-print dress, a smear of it over your cheekbone and the pulp of a mangled animal at your feet murdered by the hands of a stable boy. “Alma, my precious baby, you get away from that filth,” your Mama would cry from the upstairs balcony – cigar in one hand and a bloody Mary in the other – though whether the filth she referred to was the dead pig or the boy with a kernel of corn in his mouth, you never did find out.

            Your family earned their keeps in farming, great-grandfather Wolfgang Hildegarde a German immigrant, great-grandmother Maura Lisbon a prairie girl. They fell hopelessly in love between troughs and pig-shit, working for three dollars a day at a farm their descendants would later own, trade deals with the Indians, vacations to Calcutta, your father Todd Putnam in the kind of sheepskin coat his father’s father could only dream of owning. He worked hard so that you’d never have to. Your mama once asked – you heard it through the window, rounding cartwheels across the picket-fenced lawn – could he not find a respectable career rather than selling shrink-wrapped pork for a dime a dozen? That blood money had no business raising a child. You look far back enough, Edie, your father had said in his low, strong voice that could bring a Civil War to silence, and I think you’ll find that all money is blood money.

            Language was never fickle on your tongue, French dinner time talk by the time you were out of your Hush Puppy shoes, your mama fixing the au pair a smile as she fixed herself another martini. You learned the clarinet at four and how to dance with the grace of a swansong at six, ethereal under a spotlight, an audience captive in the palm of your hand. By eight you knew that you’d always been destined to be loved. Loved so hard they would want to taste you, bite into the soft plump of your cheek and eat you alive. That was how magnetic you wanted to feel. But mother hamsters eat their own young when penned in together too long, and soon you became too wild, too restless, another package on your father’s delivery invoice, box-shipped out to English boarding school.

            Fitting in had never been something you had to concern yourself with. You were always the shiny new toy the other girls wanted to play with, bright like a dropped coin from a magpie’s beak. Wherever you went, you seemed to leave a trail of awe, pig-tailed Harriet’s adoring you, imitating you, teachers forgiving your class-time chatter for the sake of your wild heart and the restless spirit you possessed. Tell us what it’s like in the States, Alma. They’d coo, enamoured by your Hollywood drawl. Does your father own a gun? You hardly knew. Barely even knew the colour of his hair, for the scarce amount of times he’d stoop to kiss your cheek, though you’d tell silver-tongued tales if it’d guaranteed you an audience. When you learned how to smile at the right times, and that flattery would get you everywhere, it soon became apparent that charm would pave the yellow brick road to success even when your lack of drive couldn’t.

            The road you followed – gum-snapping, roller-blading, friendship bands all up your arm – eventually led you to small-town fame. Bright-eyed and gingham skirted, you’d always known you were more. There was a hunger in you to be something extraordinary, a want so adamant to be imagined and desired that it was almost savage. In leather-bound volumes and a circle of stones, you were Helen of Troy, the girl for whom they’d launch a thousand ships. But there’s so much rage within you, collecting like sawdust in cavernous parts. Hockey helped. There was something grounding about the feeling of a stick clasped in your hands. Sweat. Stiff knuckles. Feet pounding the earth. The smash of wood against flesh in the scram of a game, passed off as mere enthusiasm. “Slipped, sorry.” Hockey is the one thing you had that was yours alone – a feral instinct that motivates you to play; something primitive within you that sparks an energy like no other. On the pitch, you feel alive.