she/her
Origin: Traveler Nature: Mournful Size: Frail Boundary: Abandoned Family Home Nature Feature: English Ivy (Hedera Helix), Yellow Orchids, Snapdragons (Antirrhinum) Accessory: Polished Wooden Rings Familiar: Barbary Dove (Streptopelia Risoria) (small swarm) TF Rewards: Carved Eudialyte Horn, Polished Rose Quartz Spike(x2) |
Can be freely drawn, ask before writing! | Freely able to be depicted with others as long as you maintain her nature | Freely open as a creator!
.;Origin Prompts;.
Original Form
Losing Their Way
Meeting the Esk
The Transformation
The Other
Their Purpose / Their Threshold
~check back soon~
Losing Their Way
Meeting the Esk
The Transformation
The Other
Their Purpose / Their Threshold
~check back soon~
Soon after an odd encounter within the woods, Beatrice was able to manifest a small swarm of barbary doves. They were brought on by residual energy from the woods, alongside a collection of fond memories.
The doves themselves are an extremely small swarm - 3 total and all decorated with yellow orchid petals along their chest fluff. They're all essentially the same size, and have a range of personalities, but they share a very similar mother-type mentality with Beatrice. They tend to block her eyes from the sun, go out and collect small things to give to others, clean up around her boundary, preen at those she cares for - they are, essentially, her own nanny helpers in a way. Little handmaids ready to clean up and bring tea for the guests, if that were possible.
The doves themselves are an extremely small swarm - 3 total and all decorated with yellow orchid petals along their chest fluff. They're all essentially the same size, and have a range of personalities, but they share a very similar mother-type mentality with Beatrice. They tend to block her eyes from the sun, go out and collect small things to give to others, clean up around her boundary, preen at those she cares for - they are, essentially, her own nanny helpers in a way. Little handmaids ready to clean up and bring tea for the guests, if that were possible.
A collection of items she's garnered.
Three polished wooden rings lay loosely around an ivy strand. They are a bit dusty, old and chipped here and there, but they are phantom figments of a set of rings she was to inherent. She loves them dearly.
Three polished wooden rings lay loosely around an ivy strand. They are a bit dusty, old and chipped here and there, but they are phantom figments of a set of rings she was to inherent. She loves them dearly.
Nestled atop her forehead, Beatrice proudly bears a carved eudialyte horn she earned through a re-transformation.
Floating from her ivy vines, 2 polished rose quartz spikes swings similarly to a pendulum.
Floating from her ivy vines, 2 polished rose quartz spikes swings similarly to a pendulum.
Background
Mournful | Determined | Motherly
In her past life, Beatrice grew up in a small town that was essentially in the middle of nowhere. Born in 1931, she lived a fairly decent and well off life considering most of her circumstances. She was, all things considered, one of the few members of her quite extensive family that broke the cookie cutter mold they set out to maintain at the time. While other daughters spent their days learning of typical chores and how to help in the village alongside the sisters or their grandmother, back when she was alive anyway, Beatrice was much more of a 'rowdy' type. She was polite and cordial, of course, but she wasn't always attentive. While her siblings and cousins spent their days inside, Beatrice was usually out and on the move, always roaming through the woods or out in the plains and the farmer fields typically from sunrise to sundown, and maybe even longer if she could get away with it. The young girl was always ready to be out and on the move, for it was her escape from the at home troubles. If she was out, she didn't have to see how everyone looked down on her uncle. She didn't have to acknowledge that grandmother was gone, she didn't have to notice the looks the other villagers gave the family, she didn't have to be locked within that stifling house and instead? Instead she could breathe. She could roam where she pleased and love as she went. She could talk to whomever she wished, ranging from the animals she discovered all the way to the town's resident 'heretic,' Miss Renee.
But all good things come to an end. After the death of her grandfather and uncle, Beatrice was soon after moved away and lost contact with most of her family. Few years later, she was married to a man who had blood under his fingernails and twin children on the way. She grew up to be a good woman: kind and soft around the edges and spoiled with lavish gifts brought on by her husband's earnings. And she was an even better mother: always ready to listen to her children's misadventures, ready to teach them, ready to show them all the things she knew how to do. She was, at the time, the best type of wife one could've asked for. A perfect little housewife, kept calm by spoils of books and maps and stories she'd only been able to dream of as a child. She lived a good life, a comfortable one.
But Beatrice wasn't involved. She'd never wanted to be married, and as much as she loved her husband, she did not like him. She adored her children, but she longed for the freedom of her old childhood home. A chance meeting led to a kind lover, soft just like she was around the edges and with a honey soaked voice and gentle hands that always left her weak at the knees. She loved that woman dearly, even if it cost her most of her lively hood with her husband. And on one faithful night, Beatrice finally took a chance. Fled her home, left to the harbor, and fled the country alone with a barely mended bullet wound in the shoulder and floating all the way back to a sick mother and long forgotten town.
As a spirit, Beatrice is rather kind. She got what she wanted in the end, got to return home and be back where she thought she belonged, and in all honesty? She wouldn't have traded it for anything. She misses her children deeply, but she knows now that they hopefully lived happily and well. Though still often pushed into the memories, she lives her days best she can and devotes her time to those around her. She's an incredibly welcoming soul, if a bit tired with her age, and is always open to talking and taking care of others. She is, for lack of a better term, the mom friend and the therapist. You could go to her whether sun or rain or midnight and she would open her home and offer you a place to rest and talk to your hearts content. Bea is, despite her years, spritely and energetic and eager to learn and help those in need. A mother till the end.
But she, like everyone, isn't without her issues. For all her generosity, Beatrice has a tendency to run herself into the ground because of it. She will put herself on the line and fray her own edges until she inevitably snaps and has an overwhelmed meltdown. She places her worth in being able to solve the problems, in being the one everyone can go to, and as a result often self destructs here and there and doesn't take care of herself. She'll risk overstimulation and aches and pains for those she cares deeply for, to the point it can sometimes be nagging, and it's been the cause of more than one fight amongst those she loves. She means well, yes, but it's hard to get her to stop when she gets going, and it's even harder to remind her that she matter just as much as those she's trying to help. If not more, in fact, because there is only one her. But she can't help but worry about what'll happen - if she isn't available will they forget her? Will they leave her to rot? Will she become a nameless thing floating in the wind? Would they even care to begin with? Would they miss her?
If she isn't being helpful, if she isn't being kind and open and ready for others at any given moment, Beatrice thinks herself worthless. It's a mark from her past life, when worth was placed in how well she took care of a house and home. If she can't do that, if she can't smile sweetly and have her arms open and ready, what good is she in the end? What example is she leading for the children?
Altogether, Beatrice is a guilt ridden but gentle thing. She never snaps when she doesn't need to, she's incredibly polite, and though she runs herself into the ground at times she recovers well. She is, usually, the equivalent of a heaven-sent type. A mother through and through, always giving advice and always opening her home to friends, family, and even strangers who just need a moment of rest. Though easily overwhelmed, and overall sensitive, Beatrice is never one you can't rely on, even if you just want to sit in the silence and watch as the world goes on without you.
In her past life, Beatrice grew up in a small town that was essentially in the middle of nowhere. Born in 1931, she lived a fairly decent and well off life considering most of her circumstances. She was, all things considered, one of the few members of her quite extensive family that broke the cookie cutter mold they set out to maintain at the time. While other daughters spent their days learning of typical chores and how to help in the village alongside the sisters or their grandmother, back when she was alive anyway, Beatrice was much more of a 'rowdy' type. She was polite and cordial, of course, but she wasn't always attentive. While her siblings and cousins spent their days inside, Beatrice was usually out and on the move, always roaming through the woods or out in the plains and the farmer fields typically from sunrise to sundown, and maybe even longer if she could get away with it. The young girl was always ready to be out and on the move, for it was her escape from the at home troubles. If she was out, she didn't have to see how everyone looked down on her uncle. She didn't have to acknowledge that grandmother was gone, she didn't have to notice the looks the other villagers gave the family, she didn't have to be locked within that stifling house and instead? Instead she could breathe. She could roam where she pleased and love as she went. She could talk to whomever she wished, ranging from the animals she discovered all the way to the town's resident 'heretic,' Miss Renee.
But all good things come to an end. After the death of her grandfather and uncle, Beatrice was soon after moved away and lost contact with most of her family. Few years later, she was married to a man who had blood under his fingernails and twin children on the way. She grew up to be a good woman: kind and soft around the edges and spoiled with lavish gifts brought on by her husband's earnings. And she was an even better mother: always ready to listen to her children's misadventures, ready to teach them, ready to show them all the things she knew how to do. She was, at the time, the best type of wife one could've asked for. A perfect little housewife, kept calm by spoils of books and maps and stories she'd only been able to dream of as a child. She lived a good life, a comfortable one.
But Beatrice wasn't involved. She'd never wanted to be married, and as much as she loved her husband, she did not like him. She adored her children, but she longed for the freedom of her old childhood home. A chance meeting led to a kind lover, soft just like she was around the edges and with a honey soaked voice and gentle hands that always left her weak at the knees. She loved that woman dearly, even if it cost her most of her lively hood with her husband. And on one faithful night, Beatrice finally took a chance. Fled her home, left to the harbor, and fled the country alone with a barely mended bullet wound in the shoulder and floating all the way back to a sick mother and long forgotten town.
As a spirit, Beatrice is rather kind. She got what she wanted in the end, got to return home and be back where she thought she belonged, and in all honesty? She wouldn't have traded it for anything. She misses her children deeply, but she knows now that they hopefully lived happily and well. Though still often pushed into the memories, she lives her days best she can and devotes her time to those around her. She's an incredibly welcoming soul, if a bit tired with her age, and is always open to talking and taking care of others. She is, for lack of a better term, the mom friend and the therapist. You could go to her whether sun or rain or midnight and she would open her home and offer you a place to rest and talk to your hearts content. Bea is, despite her years, spritely and energetic and eager to learn and help those in need. A mother till the end.
But she, like everyone, isn't without her issues. For all her generosity, Beatrice has a tendency to run herself into the ground because of it. She will put herself on the line and fray her own edges until she inevitably snaps and has an overwhelmed meltdown. She places her worth in being able to solve the problems, in being the one everyone can go to, and as a result often self destructs here and there and doesn't take care of herself. She'll risk overstimulation and aches and pains for those she cares deeply for, to the point it can sometimes be nagging, and it's been the cause of more than one fight amongst those she loves. She means well, yes, but it's hard to get her to stop when she gets going, and it's even harder to remind her that she matter just as much as those she's trying to help. If not more, in fact, because there is only one her. But she can't help but worry about what'll happen - if she isn't available will they forget her? Will they leave her to rot? Will she become a nameless thing floating in the wind? Would they even care to begin with? Would they miss her?
If she isn't being helpful, if she isn't being kind and open and ready for others at any given moment, Beatrice thinks herself worthless. It's a mark from her past life, when worth was placed in how well she took care of a house and home. If she can't do that, if she can't smile sweetly and have her arms open and ready, what good is she in the end? What example is she leading for the children?
Altogether, Beatrice is a guilt ridden but gentle thing. She never snaps when she doesn't need to, she's incredibly polite, and though she runs herself into the ground at times she recovers well. She is, usually, the equivalent of a heaven-sent type. A mother through and through, always giving advice and always opening her home to friends, family, and even strangers who just need a moment of rest. Though easily overwhelmed, and overall sensitive, Beatrice is never one you can't rely on, even if you just want to sit in the silence and watch as the world goes on without you.
BoundaryNested within her creator's boundary and part of her home village, Beatrice makes her home within her own abandoned family home from so many years ago. One of the many places of the village that was left to rot and never revitalized, and considering the air around it, likely never will be even with the slow income of new visitors.
The house itself is actually in pretty decent condition, all things considered. Greenery claws at the wooden makeup, fog is permanently etched into the windows and the porch is a bit rickety, but the core bones of the place still stand. It's long since been stripped inside of any interior decorum outside of base furniture, and when Beatrice had first come back to it it was, truly, a sorry sight. Quiet, dusty, dark and a bit rank with mold. The garden at the back of the home as surely seen better days, but instead of rotting it seems instead to flourish. Flowers and fruits and vegetables grow there in abundance, almost eating away at the low fence line and daring to meet the stretch of water that runs behind the old home and back into town or deep into the woods depending on which way you take. It's comfortable, it's quiet. It's a bit messy, but it is her home. In recent times, the house has gotten plenty lively. Though not a central hub like the train station, Beatrice and her companions and friends have long since begun to fill the small old home with trinkets and items they deem "fitting". So, random junk from Lux, nice blankets from Aeolus - plenty of items to fill the floors and walls and corners and make it feel like an actual home again. As for a haunt, Beatrice prefers to rest either in the main sitting room or beneath the porch itself. She leaves the front door open at all times, allowing visitors in and out as they please without needing to ask for her permission. She doesn't mind it really, only asks that people be kind during the day, as her eyesight grows poorer then. |
Her Creator
Though these two started off rocky, Beatrice thinks quite highly of Hayes as a whole. From the start she taught him that she refused to let him get away with leaving her be, for as nice as he was he wasn't exactly helpful, and in turn their relationship had begun tensely. Lots of questions, plenty of snips and snarks, and a lot of unamused insults thrown halfheartedly. Nowadays, however, Beatrice and Hayes are rarely seen outside of one another's company if out and about. Though they still snip at one another here and there, it's plenty fond and amused now - more akin to exasperated friends who are tired of the other's tricks. Beatrice seeks Hayes out plenty for quiet conversation, always checking in on him like a worried mother despite him being the technical parent, and she does the same for all those involved with him. Tightly knit little companions they are, kind and sweet.
She is aware that Hayes knows of her tendency to overstimulate and worry. He's got a tendency to guard her from it, even, to block the lights with his massive size and keep her close to his side. But more than that, they both share concerns over Aeolus, though Beatrice seems to know that Hayes is hiding something. She's heard mentions of a name, a place, some odd encounter. She's worried for the both of them, if anything.
Though these two started off rocky, Beatrice thinks quite highly of Hayes as a whole. From the start she taught him that she refused to let him get away with leaving her be, for as nice as he was he wasn't exactly helpful, and in turn their relationship had begun tensely. Lots of questions, plenty of snips and snarks, and a lot of unamused insults thrown halfheartedly. Nowadays, however, Beatrice and Hayes are rarely seen outside of one another's company if out and about. Though they still snip at one another here and there, it's plenty fond and amused now - more akin to exasperated friends who are tired of the other's tricks. Beatrice seeks Hayes out plenty for quiet conversation, always checking in on him like a worried mother despite him being the technical parent, and she does the same for all those involved with him. Tightly knit little companions they are, kind and sweet.
She is aware that Hayes knows of her tendency to overstimulate and worry. He's got a tendency to guard her from it, even, to block the lights with his massive size and keep her close to his side. But more than that, they both share concerns over Aeolus, though Beatrice seems to know that Hayes is hiding something. She's heard mentions of a name, a place, some odd encounter. She's worried for the both of them, if anything.
Her Uncle, An Old Inspiration
Beatrice had always loved Aeolus when they were human, and the sentiment hasn't changed since their subsequent passing. They both had never quite fit in right with their family, as much as they loved them dearly, they just,,, didn't get on. They found comfort in each other, in similar people, and Beatrice wonders what would've become of them if he hadn't died so early on in her life. She loved her uncle then, always looked at him with bright eyes and held onto all his gifts and advices with a steady hand. Though her image of him was slightly tainted as she grew - they could thank her mom and aunts for that - she never stopped caring about him, no matter what they always said. Nowadays they take comfort in each other, in what was long lost, and still settle together out in their old spots that surround the village they call home. There is a tenseness to them, to their talks, one brought on by the fact that to Aeolus Bea is still no more than a child, and to Beatrice Aeo is still this odd man of intrigue she never could quite fully know and understand. She longs to, truly, but more than that she longs for a simple reconnection. She longs to finish out that strange relationship they had before, of mock father and mock child, and hopes to cultivate it best she can.
But Beatrice is a worrier, and she's always been heavily attentive of Aeolus. She notices, in recent years, how he's falling apart at the seams, fraying where he hides himself and always turning away the moment any conversation turns towards him and how he's doing. He lies with easy hums, deflects with soft distractions, and it seems that only Beatrice notices that. And Aeolus seems to know that Beatrice knows. She doesn't know how to feel about how his stare easily turns cold when she looks too long.
Beatrice had always loved Aeolus when they were human, and the sentiment hasn't changed since their subsequent passing. They both had never quite fit in right with their family, as much as they loved them dearly, they just,,, didn't get on. They found comfort in each other, in similar people, and Beatrice wonders what would've become of them if he hadn't died so early on in her life. She loved her uncle then, always looked at him with bright eyes and held onto all his gifts and advices with a steady hand. Though her image of him was slightly tainted as she grew - they could thank her mom and aunts for that - she never stopped caring about him, no matter what they always said. Nowadays they take comfort in each other, in what was long lost, and still settle together out in their old spots that surround the village they call home. There is a tenseness to them, to their talks, one brought on by the fact that to Aeolus Bea is still no more than a child, and to Beatrice Aeo is still this odd man of intrigue she never could quite fully know and understand. She longs to, truly, but more than that she longs for a simple reconnection. She longs to finish out that strange relationship they had before, of mock father and mock child, and hopes to cultivate it best she can.
But Beatrice is a worrier, and she's always been heavily attentive of Aeolus. She notices, in recent years, how he's falling apart at the seams, fraying where he hides himself and always turning away the moment any conversation turns towards him and how he's doing. He lies with easy hums, deflects with soft distractions, and it seems that only Beatrice notices that. And Aeolus seems to know that Beatrice knows. She doesn't know how to feel about how his stare easily turns cold when she looks too long.
A Rowdy Friend
Beatrice and Lux are, surprisingly enough, two peas in a pod. She is the mellowed calm that Lux's high acting bounce needs to be stable, and together they can cause quite the problems if they put their minds to it. She's aware of Lux's thieving behaviors, hell it's hard not to know since she steals from everybody possible, including Bea herself. The older soul thinks of Lux very much like a child of sorts, a sort of joint parenting situation with Aeolus when it comes to the rowdy girl, but Beatrice also appreciates her as a simple friend. She's gotten a host of gifts from the fella - a whole room in her house dedicated to the strange trinkets and items she's had shoved into her paws and told to 'keep safe'. Lux is a bit of a mess, yeah, but Bea does her best to make her feel entirely as welcomed as possible.
It's partly why she feels so awful in recent times. Lux is trying so hard to prove that, despite her messes, she's mature enough to handle things that the others are going through. She wants to know, wants to help, and Beatrice,,, she couldn't do that to her. No one else needs to know except her and Hayes. Lux is too young for that, surely.
Beatrice and Lux are, surprisingly enough, two peas in a pod. She is the mellowed calm that Lux's high acting bounce needs to be stable, and together they can cause quite the problems if they put their minds to it. She's aware of Lux's thieving behaviors, hell it's hard not to know since she steals from everybody possible, including Bea herself. The older soul thinks of Lux very much like a child of sorts, a sort of joint parenting situation with Aeolus when it comes to the rowdy girl, but Beatrice also appreciates her as a simple friend. She's gotten a host of gifts from the fella - a whole room in her house dedicated to the strange trinkets and items she's had shoved into her paws and told to 'keep safe'. Lux is a bit of a mess, yeah, but Bea does her best to make her feel entirely as welcomed as possible.
It's partly why she feels so awful in recent times. Lux is trying so hard to prove that, despite her messes, she's mature enough to handle things that the others are going through. She wants to know, wants to help, and Beatrice,,, she couldn't do that to her. No one else needs to know except her and Hayes. Lux is too young for that, surely.
An Esk she Re-Transformed
A kind soul, Karma came to Beatrice rather distorted. She'd been on the end of her rope, both mentally and physically from the odd journey she'd taken to get to this old town in the middle of nowhere, but Bea hadn't bothered to turn her away - not for a second. She took her in, allowed her doves to preen the tired girl, and listened to her woes and bitter tales as she shook before her. It was a long night. A long few days really, but Beatrice is anything if not endlessly patient.
Nowadays, Beatrice and Karma are on much more easy going terms. She looks upon this strange little soul like a daughter, and calls her such at times too. She isn't subtle in her adoration for Karma and how far she's come, always finding the time to dote on her and assure her through any odd hardships she may experience. Beatrice has, all things considered, taken on a motherly role that sometimes can be just on the verge of overbearing with her worries, but she means well no matter what. Her home is always open to Karma and her companions, even if it does mean picking up stray feathers Karma's newfound wings leave behind.
A kind soul, Karma came to Beatrice rather distorted. She'd been on the end of her rope, both mentally and physically from the odd journey she'd taken to get to this old town in the middle of nowhere, but Bea hadn't bothered to turn her away - not for a second. She took her in, allowed her doves to preen the tired girl, and listened to her woes and bitter tales as she shook before her. It was a long night. A long few days really, but Beatrice is anything if not endlessly patient.
Nowadays, Beatrice and Karma are on much more easy going terms. She looks upon this strange little soul like a daughter, and calls her such at times too. She isn't subtle in her adoration for Karma and how far she's come, always finding the time to dote on her and assure her through any odd hardships she may experience. Beatrice has, all things considered, taken on a motherly role that sometimes can be just on the verge of overbearing with her worries, but she means well no matter what. Her home is always open to Karma and her companions, even if it does mean picking up stray feathers Karma's newfound wings leave behind.
An Eternal Companion, A Gift From The Stars
Haru,,, oh, Haru, Haru, Haru.
Beatrice doesn't know how it happened, in all honesty. It was a chance meeting, a casual conversation that was primarily on Beatrice's end because Haru had just been so shy, and then,,, this. It wasn't overnight, she knows that, obviously it wasn't. But Christ, sometimes it feels that way. Sometimes it really does feel as if Bea's just been gifted this goddamned miracle on a silver platter, served with pretty cherry blossoms on the side and a starry eyed girl and she just,,, can't help but cling. She doesn't know what she did to deserve such a loving girl, what she did to deserve a glance behind that shy exterior into this kind and ditzy little mind, but she thanks the stars every night for it. Every damn night she turns her head to the sky, even when Haru isn't there, and she thanks them till she cannot breathe anymore for this miracle that she doesn't deserve but she loves so wholly anyway, one she doubts she'd never be able to stop loving even if it killed her.
Beatrice loves her dearly. She adores this little spirit and commits everything to memory, no matter how important. She knows all the strange tunes she hums, all the odd names she likes to give things, remembers the shapes of every badly done drawing she's ever shown her carved into the dirt, somehow has a sixth sense for this absolute broken compass of an Esk - she commits it. She holds every piece she's given so near and dear, consumes it like a starved man till she's stuffed full, and still beckons for more every time Haru blinds her with that winning smile.
She wonders if there's a way for Esk to create a symbol of permanence. Just a little thing shared between them both, something they can show off so others know. Likely not. But she's content without it either way.
Haru,,, oh, Haru, Haru, Haru.
Beatrice doesn't know how it happened, in all honesty. It was a chance meeting, a casual conversation that was primarily on Beatrice's end because Haru had just been so shy, and then,,, this. It wasn't overnight, she knows that, obviously it wasn't. But Christ, sometimes it feels that way. Sometimes it really does feel as if Bea's just been gifted this goddamned miracle on a silver platter, served with pretty cherry blossoms on the side and a starry eyed girl and she just,,, can't help but cling. She doesn't know what she did to deserve such a loving girl, what she did to deserve a glance behind that shy exterior into this kind and ditzy little mind, but she thanks the stars every night for it. Every damn night she turns her head to the sky, even when Haru isn't there, and she thanks them till she cannot breathe anymore for this miracle that she doesn't deserve but she loves so wholly anyway, one she doubts she'd never be able to stop loving even if it killed her.
Beatrice loves her dearly. She adores this little spirit and commits everything to memory, no matter how important. She knows all the strange tunes she hums, all the odd names she likes to give things, remembers the shapes of every badly done drawing she's ever shown her carved into the dirt, somehow has a sixth sense for this absolute broken compass of an Esk - she commits it. She holds every piece she's given so near and dear, consumes it like a starved man till she's stuffed full, and still beckons for more every time Haru blinds her with that winning smile.
She wonders if there's a way for Esk to create a symbol of permanence. Just a little thing shared between them both, something they can show off so others know. Likely not. But she's content without it either way.
An Esk she Created
Elise is,,, a curious thing to have ever made. 'Getting along' is perhaps not the best way to describe them - at least, not if you asked Elise.
Beatrice herself cares deeply for the woman turned spirit, able to remember her from ages ago back in her days of living. How long she'd been stuck here waiting, lost, barely clinging onto life she doesn't know, but she couldn't let it continue. Rage had been her thanks at first, a bitter heat filling words as Elise snapped her non-existent fangs and screamed for answers. 'What is this? What have you done to me? What are you? What am I? What suffering is this, what Hell, what end?'
Beatrice,,, had no answers for her. Not then, not now. At least, none that satisfied.
Nowadays, the rage is nothing but a quiet simmer. They operate in peace, a balance dancing between them that they've grown to tolerate. Though Bea longs for something closer, Elise simply doesn't have that in her. She's a distant minded creature, who lives at her own pace and rarely seems,,, there enough to speak to. It worries Beatrice, worries her deeply. Had something gone wrong in making her? Is that why she seems so mentally away? Had she done something wrong herself? Was she just not fit to create anymore? Had her energy been sapped, torn to shreds with nothing left, and this was the consequence?
It frightens her, the state of Elise. A woman once strong and a walking fire-spark, now,,, crippled. Quiet. Thoughtful, lost in her own head.
She doesn't want to ask, in case the balance they've made shatters. But she hopes that one day, someday, Elise will walk to her and answer the questions she can't even ask. Maybe it'd soothe something. Maybe it'd satisfy a selfish need. She doesn't know. She doesn't know if she wants to.
Elise is,,, a curious thing to have ever made. 'Getting along' is perhaps not the best way to describe them - at least, not if you asked Elise.
Beatrice herself cares deeply for the woman turned spirit, able to remember her from ages ago back in her days of living. How long she'd been stuck here waiting, lost, barely clinging onto life she doesn't know, but she couldn't let it continue. Rage had been her thanks at first, a bitter heat filling words as Elise snapped her non-existent fangs and screamed for answers. 'What is this? What have you done to me? What are you? What am I? What suffering is this, what Hell, what end?'
Beatrice,,, had no answers for her. Not then, not now. At least, none that satisfied.
Nowadays, the rage is nothing but a quiet simmer. They operate in peace, a balance dancing between them that they've grown to tolerate. Though Bea longs for something closer, Elise simply doesn't have that in her. She's a distant minded creature, who lives at her own pace and rarely seems,,, there enough to speak to. It worries Beatrice, worries her deeply. Had something gone wrong in making her? Is that why she seems so mentally away? Had she done something wrong herself? Was she just not fit to create anymore? Had her energy been sapped, torn to shreds with nothing left, and this was the consequence?
It frightens her, the state of Elise. A woman once strong and a walking fire-spark, now,,, crippled. Quiet. Thoughtful, lost in her own head.
She doesn't want to ask, in case the balance they've made shatters. But she hopes that one day, someday, Elise will walk to her and answer the questions she can't even ask. Maybe it'd soothe something. Maybe it'd satisfy a selfish need. She doesn't know. She doesn't know if she wants to.
An Old Friend
Back when Beatrice first moved to France with her husband, she hadn't exactly known anybody in the area. Between having to learn a new language and customs, having to fall into the new life her husband had granted her, and having to deal with the idea of having children? It was safe to say that making friends wasn't exactly high on her list of to-do's back then. But Talia had been a surprise introduction, brought on by her husband's boss and coworkers, and before Bea could even blink this curious woman was always over, always near Beatrice, always there and always ready when needed. Beatrice had been made fully aware that Talia was anything but a casual lady like she was set to be, and yet she always pulled Bea away from the curious nature of her husbands work.
They were, for lack of a more accurate term, damn near inseparable during their time together. Talia was easy to talk to, easy to sit with, and surprisingly they shared a plentiful of interests. Music, stories, wine - it wasn't odd to find them settled in a sunroom with a book between them and some snacks settled nearby. They were close, so incredibly close, and if Beatrice had let herself she's no doubt she could admit that she loved Talia once upon a time. She was not her unbecoming, this curious and sharpened woman, but Gods she was close. Close enough that Bea knew the shade of her lipstick and brand of cigarettes by heart, but had never quite tasted either as she longed to.
She's got no idea what happened to Talia. She and her children - children which Talia had lavished with so much affection it left them fat and spoiled at times - had to leave for America just a few years after they'd been born, and Beatrice, much to her displeasure, never saw the woman again. No letters, no proper goodbyes, just one day they were gone. It's one of her deepest regrets, tucked close with the other things that eat at her, and Bea does long to know what happened to her. Perhaps she ended up how she did, in this odd eternal limbo? Perhaps buried somewhere kind, or burned and pressed into a diamond. It'd be fitting for her. Either way, Beatrice misses her company immensely. And though with the developments of her life she's no doubt that old longing is now since dulled to a yearn for presence and presence alone as opposed to hidden affections, she's also got no doubt that she'd still love a day spent reading stories and laughing at the strange things that surround them. Perhaps one day there could be a meeting again? Even if it'd be to a gravestone or a polished gem, Beatrice would like a bit of closure. Though she's smart enough to understand that if, and only if Talia were alive, she knows it'd likely become a match against wits and cold, calculated woman who got left in the dust.
Back when Beatrice first moved to France with her husband, she hadn't exactly known anybody in the area. Between having to learn a new language and customs, having to fall into the new life her husband had granted her, and having to deal with the idea of having children? It was safe to say that making friends wasn't exactly high on her list of to-do's back then. But Talia had been a surprise introduction, brought on by her husband's boss and coworkers, and before Bea could even blink this curious woman was always over, always near Beatrice, always there and always ready when needed. Beatrice had been made fully aware that Talia was anything but a casual lady like she was set to be, and yet she always pulled Bea away from the curious nature of her husbands work.
They were, for lack of a more accurate term, damn near inseparable during their time together. Talia was easy to talk to, easy to sit with, and surprisingly they shared a plentiful of interests. Music, stories, wine - it wasn't odd to find them settled in a sunroom with a book between them and some snacks settled nearby. They were close, so incredibly close, and if Beatrice had let herself she's no doubt she could admit that she loved Talia once upon a time. She was not her unbecoming, this curious and sharpened woman, but Gods she was close. Close enough that Bea knew the shade of her lipstick and brand of cigarettes by heart, but had never quite tasted either as she longed to.
She's got no idea what happened to Talia. She and her children - children which Talia had lavished with so much affection it left them fat and spoiled at times - had to leave for America just a few years after they'd been born, and Beatrice, much to her displeasure, never saw the woman again. No letters, no proper goodbyes, just one day they were gone. It's one of her deepest regrets, tucked close with the other things that eat at her, and Bea does long to know what happened to her. Perhaps she ended up how she did, in this odd eternal limbo? Perhaps buried somewhere kind, or burned and pressed into a diamond. It'd be fitting for her. Either way, Beatrice misses her company immensely. And though with the developments of her life she's no doubt that old longing is now since dulled to a yearn for presence and presence alone as opposed to hidden affections, she's also got no doubt that she'd still love a day spent reading stories and laughing at the strange things that surround them. Perhaps one day there could be a meeting again? Even if it'd be to a gravestone or a polished gem, Beatrice would like a bit of closure. Though she's smart enough to understand that if, and only if Talia were alive, she knows it'd likely become a match against wits and cold, calculated woman who got left in the dust.
Character Details and Notes
- Beatrice's vibration or voice is incredibly soft on the ears. Akin to melted honey and freshly warmed and weighted blanket, the way she speaks is easily telling of her mood and (usually) is soaked in pure fondness or quiet amusement. There is a rasp to her, one telling of her age and just how many years she's actually been around, and it almost makes her come across as sleepy. But there is a youth to her, a wakefulness, and she's always eager for conversation even if you just want a listener.
- Size wise, Beatrice is quite small. She's around the size of a small dog, only a bit larger than a Whippet breed from the shoulder down. Due to her usually having her head hung low though she often comes across as smaller than she actually is.
- When depicting her snapdragons, remember to have a sunset type gradient! Purple at the base, and fading from a red, to pink, to orange, and all the way to a light yellow at the ends.
- Beatrice doesn't visit the Conservatory frequently, and when she does she's typically not alone. The aura to the place tends to rub her senses raw, and as a result she has to be careful when she does visit. She has no personal wing to visit, and can usually be spotted with her companions if near there, typically beside Hayes while they wait for the others (Lux) to settle down. Sometimes she may even be with 000, or in a quiet and less populated space. You are free to approach her should you encounter her, she's always happy to talk.
- As a creator, Beatrice is incredibly affectionate. She takes the mentor and parental role easily, acting as a surrogate mother of sorts to the newfound creations and guiding them as they need. She won't force a creation to stay after they come to, happy to let them go on their way, but she will worry a little. Bea has a preference towards travelers and re-transformations in particular, but she will create just about anything! However, usually Abnormals need to have some type of significant value to her.
.;Badges;.
credits ; images from pexels