#under any other circumstances. she would had been called ignorant or a gold digger by now

[georgeharrisonsmiling]

Obviously it would be better if she never had to do it, but Olivia saving George's life from that knife attack gave her public relations immunity when it comes to her decisions on George's legacy.

No matter how much the Beatles biographers hate her for not opening George's files to them (and they do), they cannot discredit her or attack her character with the usual maneuvers because, at the end of the day, she fought an armed intruder to save her husband and won. Authors and fans alike cannot deny that she had proven herself to be protective of George and his memory.

[brvisedmorality]

[ TESSA THOMPSON, 37, CIS FEMALE, SHE/HER ] Have you seen BENTLEY BOURDEAUX down in St. Landry again? I heard they’re one of the BOSS, for the KELLEY’s now. They’ve been so CUT THROAT & GUARDED lately, it’s no wonder. I’ll sure miss when they were CREATIVE & SENTIMENTAL. I wonder if they’re going to stop listening to HEAVEN KNOWS by THE PRETTY RECKLESS. now, or if LILY TATTOOS WRAPPING AROIND HER HEART, A GAZE THAT DEFINES IF LOOKS COULD KILL & A RUSTED WEDDING RING BURIED IN THE SWAMPS will still announce ‘em.

Violet Maheaux was born in the backwoods of the bayou as a chilling side effect of what could only be called the hate fucking exchanged by her parents. She was the kind of woman that you admired for both her inherit, natural beauty and her dreams. The dreams were always the big ones, the ones that involved making a name for herself and leaving the sleepiness of this little town behind forever.  As pretty as she was, that was all that the ancestors saw fit to give her, nothing much more. They didn’t see it important to offer the woman the tools that she needed in order to make it out of her circumstances, there was no second chance at a life unless she learned to use the one thing that she did have – her body. Violet learned at her young age that for as many dreams as she had, her parents had that many less. They could barely spell the word dream let alone live it, so there was no other choice for her to start to get creative. She managed to learn that the world would open up to you just as soon as you opened your legs. Pussy, that was the one marketable talent that she was born with and she decided to use it as such. The phrase gold digger was one that had been coined especially for her, the girl with champagne taste and beer money. Through the years she had found men here and there but she never really managed to accomplish anything great from sloppy blowjobs and quick sex until she met Weston Bordeaux.

Weston was not only the most desirable man that she had ever seen, his bank account reflected just the right amount of zeroes to make him the prime candidate to run her right out of the woods and into the penthouse. There were two dates before she found herself pinned to the backseat of his Bentley, a chorus of convincing moans and slick sheen of sweat resulting in her golden ticket, the baby that he put inside her that night. In all her glory, she managed to rope on of New Orleans’s most eligible bachelors. Weston’s parents were not about to let a bastard child be born with the prestigious Bordeaux name so he had no choice other than to marry the downgrade that he had made the mistake of impregnating. Their marriage was one that sealed fates ticket to bring the poor house to the Hamptons, so to speak. In commemorative fashion of their fuck trophy, Violet elected to name their first born child Bentley. The keep sake that lived and breathed was born shortly after they were married and there were days where she regretted even that simple, silver spoon mistake.

Bentley’s childhood was one that was filled with attention from anyone other than her parents. The people that whispered through the halls of their house, the ones that dusted ancient heirlooms and tended to the children were the ones that she knew the best. Her mother was a ghost of a woman, a woman whose only goal had been to get somewhere where she didn’t need to worry about money. She accomplished that goal on her back but now there was nothing left for Violet to aspire to. Weston on the other hand was miserable in the begging of their marriage and subsequently, while Bentley was growing up. He drank too much, worried even more and then of course eventually succumbed to his fate of loving the backwoods Barbie doll that he had been forced into marrying. The hurricane that was Bentley Mason stormed her way through the house and the grounds, never a soul to settle for too long. The wild child that her mother had been in her youth was the only trait she was thankful that she was passed down. There was no way to calm her waters or cage her desire to learn, love, hate, anything. She was as unpredictable as they came, something that her father saw as an immediate danger and attempted to cut off at the neck just as soon as possible. Weston’s suggestion for calming down their daughter was to all but sell her off to the highest bidder. Arranged marriages were a thing of the past, everyone said but what high society wanted, high society got.

The attempt to clip wings that were made for flying made Bentley more than enraged when she started coming into her teens. It was delicate age, the age where rebellion could come running into the back of your head and make its home there. It did just that, as a matter of fact. She was a wild horse that bucked the saddle they were trying to fit her with in every sense that she possibly could, but eventually daddy won out. He managed to rope her into a relationship with a man who was ten years her senior, ignoring the obvious age gaps and general inappropriate nature of their pairing, he was just happy someone would continue the prestige that was promised by the life he knew. The one thing that daddy didn’t know was that he had just pushed his darling daughter into the arms of malice, abuse, and violence all rolled into one. That was her dance with the devil, her chance to lose the wide eyed innocence that she had been born with. Her only saving grace was her sister, Delilah.

Bentley only stayed around for as long as she did because of her little sister, someone needed to be there to hold the hand of the most precious thing that shared her bloodline. Delilah Lily Bordeaux was the one thing that brought her head back down from the clouds and centered her in a way that one other hand that had ever touched her managed too. The problem with that was that Bentley was only human (as far as she knew), she could only handle so much. The straw that had broken the camel’s back was the last time that her husband to be busted her lip wide open. The copper taste of her own blood in her mouth was enough to break down the last of her defenses, leaving her with one choice at the ripe age of sixteen and that was to leave. She abandoned the family, the money, and the manufactured sense of both safety and love, making the last strike the last time that someone would ever put their hands on her without regretting the decision.

Leaving the house on the hill that she had been born in and subsequently her sister, affectionately coined as Lily, was the one thing that will constantly be a soft, untouched mistake that she still didn’t speak about. It was the reason that some nights she woke up screaming, other mornings she contemplated just ending the suffering that radiated from that hole that was left in her chest by the happenings at that house. Shortly after Bentley left home, Lily then twelve would just so happen to go missing. They searched for her for days, spending minutes, hours, days trying to find any sign of what had happened to the small girl with the sincerest of smiles. Local law enforcement combined with neighbors and friends scoured the woods, the swamps, everything that they could to find any sign of the youngest Bordeaux sister. The overly eager attempts to find the child by one neighbor in particular would be the downfall of the whole scenario, eventually finding that he had raped, brutalized and then killed the light of Bentley’s life weeks earlier, not even bothering to bury the body but instead leaving her in the basement of his oversized home right next to the Bordeaux’s house. This is what heart break feels like, this is what heartbreak sounds like, hell – this is what heartbreak looks like.

Bentley’s lines were blurred forever after that small, simple incident that came to define her own personal views on morality. She didn’t mind becoming the judge, jury and the executioner because that final kick in the balls so to speak came when they acquitted this man on a technicality that she was sure that his lawyer bought with all that money that they had to offer him. It was the law, the government that allowed him to not only kill her flesh and blood, but turned the blind eye to it. It was then that fate decided to brand itself a killer at the ripe age of sixteen. It was the first body that ever disappeared under Bentley’s name, but it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last one. That was the thing about blood, once you got it on your hands, those stains never did come out.

True to the saying, the first cut was the deepest, but that didn’t mean it was going to be some kind of well learned lesson. Instead, it became a means to an end. Regardless, the one mistake she’d made was getting caught. The person who caught her had a badge that she assumed would somehow steal the loyalty from her to it, but she was pleasantly surprised. The pair eventually took off together, until he’d left her in a cheap, roadside motel, to deal with the reality of her hand written tragedy. Upon coming back to town, Marie Kelley took her in. After all, she’d always known the girl, and something told Bentley, that when she looked at her? Somehow, she didn’t see the same monster that B did when she looked in the mirror. 

The Kelley family became the only family she knew and loved, aside from her sister, that she carried with her every day. That was the only reason she was allowed to climb the ranks the way she did, and it was at Marie’s dying recommendation, that she took the throne. A gift, that she hadn’t intended to waste then, and surely wouldn’t now.