Blackmores // [UPDATE/OPEN SPOTS]

your name: rave
character’s name: constance ayers harmon-blackmore
age: sixteenish
gender: female
character ideas:

Treated like an infectious strand of a virus threatening their family, the thin formality of family was smashed across the floor among other things on her way out, leaving a fresh trail of shattered egos and china in her waking history. A consistency of madness since childhood, a reliable cause of chaos, familiar titles floating around the atmosphere around wherever she was, lingering between alleyways and anything suspicious like an omen of destruction. It’s as if by being removed from half of her family, the Blackmores who made up half of her traits, a match was struck on atop a box of firecrackers. The Harmons, of course, failed to acknowledge her either, she was half of somebody else’s mess too, yet she went ignored like a lower class citizen in a regal ambience, who, in two houses of pure, could ever love a filthy mistake as she.

Being in a circle of grunge, on the other hand, was different, when nothing was pure, nothing was judged, bastards, sinners, others unwanted, just like her. Even among runaway street rats and cannibals, her biggest fear was the money in her pockets, life with people shunned for minor things out of their league failed to come across as problematic. Each of the crook had a tale worth listening to as long as she listened, and the tips of their tongues were always painted with the strategies of treasure, in a city of thieves living as a street rat could not have been any easier.

Returning back to either of the houses, Blackmore or Harmon, they began fading into one blur of insanity and chagrin, never quite lived up to the stories resting outside. How the fetishes of limbs, stripped skin and misplaced teeth in the Blackmore house twisted her gut, whereas, in the Harmon house, Ayers wished for so much more, one mention of some sort of a brawl, anything other than the regal concerns that would never be hers. The imbalances of the two houses’ interests felt like they were scratching at her, like the black and whites of her personality were trying to order themselves into the clinically insane and the clinically boring.

Oh, but how she lived to tear that wall down, in the minutes before leaving the Harmon house for the last time, the shattered china and tore cushions felt nearly satisfying to the unsettling rival genes making her up like a zipper. Breaking and burning as much as possible in the few minutes she had before she would leave with Phantilius, she knew they would rebuy and rebuild everything destroyed, but first they would have to notice her, what she did and what she isn’t. No longer was she to be a reminiscent of a bastard, she was no longer the ungrateful bitch her halfsiblings noted her as, nor was she the weakest link of the Blackmores. Phantilius promised to take her somewhere more comfortable, but the house in wreckage finally was soothing, some back alley club of his own creation. The feelings towards him were diminished almost instantly after meeting him, the slimy ghost of alcohol wearing on his breathe every time he spoke unsettled her, so she cared little for him.

Expectations were met, however, the mire of a fight club was filled with the people he noted, cannibals, kleptomaniacs, pin heads, anarchists, arsonists, nymphomaniacs, familiar faces. People whose life lines were short than the hairs trailing down to the backs of some, each of them peaking Ayers’ attention. Brawls sprang like wild animals, sometimes they would die out between just two people, sometimes clichés and gangs joined in until at least half the room were slinging fists or breaking bottles. The taste of ruination licked at her tastebuds, with the thoughts of ashes and flames lighting up in the back of her mind, every blink bringing out a silhouette of the maelstrom of her wildest dreams.

fc ideas: pfft
rp sample: lmao
other #carryonmywaywardbun #there’llbefrieswhenyou’redone mmkay