· · · 》𝙈𝙄𝙎𝙁𝙄𝙏𝙎 𝙊𝙁 𝙈𝘼𝙉𝙃𝘼𝙏𝙏𝘼𝙉

[senna_]

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xxx

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Welcome to New York, where dreams become opportunities, and success is the
oxygen in the city air — for those who pay to have their wishes granted, at least.
Those who do not qualify get left behind, pushed back into shadows of the city:
the land of misfits, whose population grew following the latest economic crash.
Receiving the short end of the stick, those within the city’s shadows were left to
clean up after the city folks. With this new system, the rich would grow richer &
the poor would remain poor…

Until the interference of the Trinkets, a group of young adults, who stood amongst
the unfortunate. Originally sent to a boarding school with the hope of ridding their
mischievous energy, the Trinkets were left in the dirt the moment the school shut
down, and with no family around, they turned to each other. Now, they are proud
and determined to enforce a strike and prioritize their well-being.

Unwilling to deal with the misfits themselves, the city folk sent over their younger
crew — their own children and local interns — to keep a watchful eye on them,
which included going undercover and joining the group with the hope of receiving
further information on their future plans. Some of the city folk know their job and
will stand by their opinions on the Trinkets. Others, however, may realize the brutal
reality of New York…
vaguely inspired by the plot of the musical Newsies

[senna_]

• • • INFORMATION • • •
. set in modern time (not super technologically-advanced, but within the 21st century)
. overall concept is that the Trinkets are fighting back for better work environments, actual
..housing (most live in old abandoned buildings), safer conditions, and more freedom. The City
..Folk (youngsters) have the choice of attempting to join this group, either undercover or open
..about their position. City Folks have been told constantly that the Mayor and team are right,
..and the Trinkets’ words mean nothing. This is their time to see for themselves
. will be making a discord, and i encourage you to join!
. i am open to plot points/general ideas, just shoot me a message about them :)



• • • RULES • • •
i. cs rules apply ii. up to 3 characters per person at the moment, but you must have at least one
from either side if creating multiple iii. please try for at least 200 words —> something for taggers
to work with iv. discord is highly encouraged v. pm me to reserve (working with reservations only)
vi. all character forms must be posted on the discussion thread

[senna_]

The Trinkets

Former boarding school college students ages 18-22. All are known for having some sort of unruly trait to them ─ theft, irresponsibility, and whatever else fits the
description. They've recently set up camp in an abandoned warehouse, having nowhere else to go. Few dare to wander into the depths of the city.

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The Leader
The highest rank in the group; the one
with the authoritarian voice. Makes the
official/final decisions.
florian "fox" monari . senna_

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xxxx

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The Right-Hand Man
The brains of the group. Often works
alongside the Leader and is usually the
one to come up with logical responses.
layne finch . nikbowie

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xxxx

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Medical Enthusiast
Doesn't have the most experience, but
is passionate about medicine and thus
has been titled their go-to doctor.
shiloh barbeau . avicularia

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The Strengths
The ones who evidently got into a lot of
physical trouble. Their job is to protect.
jackdaw "bear" smith . chase
roman bosco . deco.
brielle rivera . senna_

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xxxx

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Older Members
The members who have been around since
the start. They help with several tasks.
cassandra "cass" peters . tawneypelt0504
tamsyn "red" beaumont . otisblue
andrew "drew" yang . md,

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xxxx

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Newbies
The ones who joined within the past 1-
3 months. Still learning the ropes.
jasper west . chase
zak "ziggy" wolfe . otisblue
alabama "sparrow" stanford . avicularia

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[senna_]

The Cityfolk

Young adults between the ages 18-22 who grew up in the heart of New York. All are politically involved with the city council in some way, whether that be via direct
family, or pursuing an internship. All have been assigned the task of spying on the Trinkets ─ undercover or not ─ so the city knows the group's next moves and how to successfully shut them down.

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The Mayor's Child
The rich kid whose future was decided by
their parents. They're the most familiar
with the “posh” lifestyle.
elias black . chase

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xxxx

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The Office Administrator
A workaholic with a need to keep things
tidy and in their control. Schedules are
their best friend and an ultimate must.
imogen lacroix . deco.

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xxxx

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The Journalist
A curious individual with firm beliefs. A
bit too nosy, but anything can be turned
into a story…
maisie vaughn . senna_

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The Photographer
A crafty, creative individual, and someone
open to trying out new things. They are
passionate about the arts.
kimberly "kimmy" palmer . avicularia

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xxxx

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General Assistant's Child
They are tolerable and flexible in their life
style. They try to avoid jumping straight to
conclusions.
OPEN . player

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xxxx

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General Interns
The young adults who seem to have many
different skills in several fields. They are
up for any and everything.
ian carlisle . otisblue
dylan manchester . md,

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[senna_]

Relationship Chart
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siblings [✩]xxx.xxxone-sided crush [↦]xxx.xxxmutual crush [⇄]xxx.xxxromantic partners [♡]xxx.xxxfeuding [✖]
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Fox ✩ Layne
Roman ✩ Bear
Aleko ✩ Shiloh

xxx

Jo ↦ Fox
Kimmy ↦ Fox
Red ↦ Fox
Aleko ↦ Roman
fox's to come fjsdknaweq

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Layne ⇄ Elias
Maisie ⇄ Bear

[senna_]

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UPDATES
2023-05-05: roleplay created
2023-05-07: officially open
2023-05-09: closed
2023-05-12: roleplay started
2023-06-08: roleplay updated
2023-07-05: opened up more roles
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STATUS
roles available
discussion thread

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[senna_]

𝐅𝐎𝐗

[ ❝𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈❞ ]
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rank. trinkets leaderxxpronouns. he/himxxsexuality. bisexualxxlocation. fire escapexxment./tags. bear,red/layne

The day started with a lazy snore in Fox’s ear. It was a common theme — hot breath against the side of his neck, a soft snore twirling the wisps of hair grazing his forehead. The snore processed in his drowsy mind was similar to the sound of a rock tumbling against a wall of bricks – an odd combination, but suiting to Fox. He didn’t even have to tilt his head to the side to know who the possessor was. When in doubt, it was Jackdaw Smith. Bear. Another part of the collection of animal names for human beings. Bear had been quick to receive that nickname, and it spoke for itself. Most things did in their group. The Trinkets were drawn to simplicity. It made life roll a little bit smoother. Things working in their favour were rare to come across, but easy days spent alongside the Trinkets made it all feel a bit better. Hope clung to them a bit tighter, like a rope strung around cattle. Only, they were more than just cattle: they were prey, prey to the salivating predator they knew as the city. There was no need to go into specifics. Everything involving the big city was an even bigger no. If their crampy, grungy town — if one could call it that — was looked upon as the city’s trash yard by the city council, then they had every right to shoot daggers at the city in return.

x'xWhat else was crampy would be the old warehouse the group and Fox had decided to call their new home. The building itself had high ceilings and tall walls, enough to sport another level — a loft — but, in tune with “looks can be deceiving”, once filled with a dozen or so mischievous misfits, things went from the grand ocean to a skinny river in a matter of moments. And yet, copious odours, numerous crushed cans, and once-vibrant-now-tenderly-decoloured throw-on sheets flooded their own continuous body of flooring. Then there were the Trinkets themselves; Bear was a suitable example of that. There weren’t crafted rooms, but enough off-white mattresses to bed them all. Bear still managed to find his way onto — quite literally — Fox. He slept like a hibernating bear, that was for certain. It was like his body was Fox’s very own weighted blanket.

x'xUnfortunately, said weighted blanket weighed a bit too much, and the only form of comfort Fox received was that of partnership. The warmth of his fellow friends was securing, a promise certified and filled to the brim of a cracked glass; their presence avoided the shatter. However, a good night's sleep was also something he desired. Forcing his torso upright, Fox's hands slowly slid to the opposite side of where his sleepy friend had placed himself, and, at snail speed, he managed to slip out from beneath Bear, who thankfully did not thud down onto the mattress like dead weight. Fox was a pro at gliding past his proclaimed family; in these moments he was the stealth of a fox. He, despite being an avid morning hater, was always up before the sun itself. Having the sun greet him was a way to symbolize new beginnings and fresh promises; watching sunlight burst over the deep blue mist of a sky was like purpose overcoming defeat. The Trinkets overthrowing the government. His gaze hardened as he stepped outside, the dewy morning air congested with faint manure and wet concrete. Anyone with half a brain would understand this was no ideal living space, yet it was reality. They were fool's gold; the only value was a pair of working, functioning hands. Even at that, the city seemed to have cut its attention short on that as well — they were more eager to pick a fight than sift through their enforced group of misfits. To the city, the Trinkets were nothing more than pebbles on a stone road. In Fox's eyes, his group was filled with individual shining diamonds, and he was set on keeping their shine. That was his true purpose amongst the bunch. Together, their shine would catch someone's attention. It was just a little ways away from receiving its very own spotlight.

x'xOn the thought of diamonds, Fox didn't fail to miss sweet Red's chipper paintings on one of the nearby walls Fox had eagerly shown her some time ago. He passed it every morning; sometimes she was there, sometimes not. This morning, he had yet to see her, but that only drew more attention to the beauty she had created. Artwork itself was pure magic. Having the ability to create a new world, craft it with remarkable designs, vibrant colours, and tell a story through everything but words themselves was a beautiful feeling. Fox enjoyed art too, immensely so. But unlike Red's, whose work felt like the jolly singing of birds in the early morning, his embodied the cruel crashing waves of a deep black ocean; she was the calm, he was the storm. The storm turned to a drizzle after allowing his emotions to explode onto the crisp page of his journal, ink running freely, softening in shade the more it swept about the thin sheet of material. He was on his way to do so now, eager to wring out the precipitation that seemingly built itself up from within him. With a small huff, Fox swung his hand to connect his palm against the cool iron bar of the nearby fire exit, hoisting himself up onto the flimsy staircase. It was a testy spot to hang about, its route a zigzagging maze leading up toward the sun itself. The thrill gave Fox a sense of delectation; even from yards high, he liked the swoop in his stomach as he kicked his legs off the ground, holding himself up solely by the strength in his arms and grip around the railing. Everything was much clearer up here: his thoughts, the air, the feeling of freedom. Even the spiderweb of stairs itself blended in with the brick walls. Worry only reached a certain way up. He stood before it, now. Fingers curled around the railing, Fox leaned over slightly, dark eyes sweeping across the grounds around him.

x'xFrom a bird’s eye view, their little campground was no more than a speck on the map, an accidental tap of one’s tip of the pen – something unintentionally placed, with the desperate hope of remaining unseen. It was so small, it didn’t even have the privilege of obtaining a proper town name. For the Trinkets, it was as close to home as they were going to get. On ground level, old brick buildings were filled with mysterious charm, and the graffiti that added extra colour was nothing less than art itself. The grass, however, never seemed to grow in colour, only ever in length. To most, the easiest way to describe this area was to compare it to death itself. In Fox’s eyes, it was an artistic work in progress. Old, abandoned buildings were in the works of being flipped; one day, someday, the place would shimmer. For now, they had to contend with the lengthy alleyways, home to the feral creatures that loved to stir up commotion; old metal staircases ironed against the sides of the buildings, their distorted rails threatening to break free at any second; and worst of all, the junk that managed to make a brand-new entrance into their home on a weekly basis. The city folks were so greedy, so careless. The conditions the Trinkets were living in were far from pleasant compared to most, but it was doable; Fox had managed to find a bit of charm in every little detail of the old warehouse, despite what the pessimists would think of it. It was standing upright, with deep brown walls that had evidently experienced a fair amount of Mother Nature’s nasty temper over the years. Sure, some of the square glass windows were cracked (admittedly, yes, some looked like they had been intentionally smashed, but there were very few!), but there was a gorgeous platform of stained glass that overlooked the empty fields behind them. The inside of the warehouse was as flattering as the outside: old mattresses sprawled across the creaky wooden floors, blankets a tangled mess, like overgrown vines against cobblestones. Two long, skinny poles of light stretched across the ceilings – electricity was quick to give up when the weather turned cold. The room itself was quite echoey, and the loft above was no better. Occasionally, the sound of drip drip dripping water would accompany them. By now, they knew exactly where to place their buckets. Fox, oh-so-chipper around his proclaimed family, trumpeted it as a revised version of musical chairs. Despite having a fair amount of walking space on both levels, most items were kept closer to one another: it was cozier being so close to the other members. The Strays, as Layne called it.

x'xLayne. His unofficial — but self-determined — brother; his loyal Right-Hand man, the one who kept him afloat, and realistically alive, too. If the group was a galaxy and Trinkets were all stars, Layne would be a constellation. He was an intricate soul, filled with more layers than one could count; if he was a book, he would be an everlasting series. Fox focused little during his time spent at school, but his attention was always given to Layne. Something about him was so captivating; even if he liked to cling to dullness to keep himself covered, Fox always saw the brightness from within. He trusted his brother more than anyone, anything, and above all else. He didn't doubt they wouldn't be standing here if it weren't for Layne. He never took the credit he deserved — including his participation in the rise of the Trinkets.

x'xThat story replayed in Fox's mind every time his fingers inched toward his worn-out sketchpad. Curiosity got to the best of his wholehearted trusted one, and it was from that moment on that Fox knew he wanted to be close to him. With Layne, the chest of trinkets turned into a treasure chest of bejeweled one-of-a-kinds; Layne was the key to the chest, and he was the water that helped grow the seed into the blooming flowers they called family. Somewhere in his notebook, Fox had a sketch of his brother, along with a sappy note that would even turn Fox's cheeks the shade of maroon if in earshot of the reading. Right now, he wasn't on a mission to find that special page. Right now, he was flipping the page to begin yet another story. He leaned back against the edge of the platform, then shimmied down so that his back was right against the platform's bottom, nose up towards the sky. His worn-down pencil brushed across the page, wrist whirling as if conducting a live instrument. He didn't have colour, but he didn't need it; the colour formed itself when the mind was patient enough to let it run its course. And, despite physically brushing about silvers and greys, Fox could see the meshing of blues forming an unwavering connection with his subconscious energy. A once-innocent bird playing an endless game of cat-and-mouse turned into an evil entity with a hunger for human blood — a ridiculous concept, and one, like most others, Fox kept to himself. It was safe up here. It was just him, his sketch work, and the sky. And at night, he was accompanied by the stars. He could feel the glory of such delicate things run through his blood the closer he got to them. He always awaited the time when the sun slept.

x'xOnly this time, it became clear that Fox indeed was not completely alone. Just as he had shifted his position to sit upright once again, the rough sound of sneakers against the rough sound of the metal platform surface formed an awkward sound, and cold arms embraced him with innocent evilness. "Way to break the ice, 'ya negaton," Fox shot back humourously, wriggling free from Layne's attack. He held up the sketchbook as Layne made a comment, tilting it against the sunlight as if to observe it thoughtfully. "Do you think? That evil eye wouldn't get far with our gang; a bird never wins against a pack of wolves." He tilted his head back like a young boy smiling innocently up at his superior, sketching out an upside-down Layne before wiggling to face his friend. His eyes continued to skim Layne's face, grin matching Layne's softer smile. But Fox knew him better than that, better than to believe everything was okay, and it was confirmed a heartbeat later when the subject flipped its course. "Mmm, the pretty boy." He nodded his head once before climbing to his feet, inching forward until he could comfortably prop his lower arms up onto the railing. His dark eyes trickled past Layne, staring aimlessly out towards some of the nearby brick buildings. "I've yet to see bark or bite from him. You knew me, we're not here to kick 'em out before they've even arrived. But that face? The appearance? Dunno. The bird may be turning towards him soon." He lifted up his now-closed sketchbook to clarify his reference to the sketch he had just put aside. "I haven't spoken to him yet. He clearly likes testing with the frontiers; not even trying to hide his wealth? Seems a bit weird to me." His head tilted as he yet again grazed over Layne's expression. "Have you met him yet?"

[deco.]

𝐈𝐦𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐧 𝐋𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐱
tags: open!! ﹣mentions: elias - location: entrance to trinkets hideout - role: office admin
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

She was built for the political lifestyle, it was basically a right of passage. Her mother a respected attorney and her father a very successful businessman and politician, the Lacroix’s held power in many aspects. Imogen followed in their footsteps in a more supportive role. Somehow, to no one’s surprise, she quickly ascended the social ladder and became one of the mayor’s most trusted associates. Imogen attended all sorts of meetings with him whether they were political, recreational, or just general self interest. She didn’t mind the attention. In fact, it was beneficial in many ways, those more confidential meetings gave her insight into how money was being spent and how future development of New York would fare. Her confidence in Mayor Black was steadily wavering, her face would scrunch everytime the man said anything questionable. Still, in the grand scheme of things she had no power against him. Imogen knew her place and while she could lightly suggest things to him, any big changes were normally brushed off. Especially now that there were rumblings of an uprising due to the group who called themselves the trinkets. The lack of interest from the Mayor rubbed her the wrong way, he was essentially ignoring a better part of the citizens in the city. Eventually, the issue had caused a big enough uproar where the mayor had to at least pretend to care. He said he would come up with something and his plan was certainly something.

It was decided that the children of the powerful would go in and scope out and stop whatever coup was being planned by the trinkets. The first to go was the Mayor’s son himself, Elias. Him and Imogen didn’t have the strongest of relationships. Despite the fact that she was with the Mayor 24/7, she hadn’t actually seen Elias all that much in the past few years as he was sent away to school per his father’s request. That and he just seemed to steer clear of her in general and he was aware of the reason why. The Mayor was notorious for singing her praises, Imogen could breathe in a certain way and he would compliment her on how efficient and dedicated she was for something her body involuntarily did. It probably did wonders for Elias’ self esteem. Regardless, there was a job to do and she was glad he was told to go rather than she was. That thought didn’t last too long in her head as she was called into the Mayor’s office.

“Imogen my dear, as you are well aware I have sent my son to go to the trinket’s hideout.” He began to speak, fiddling around with the various objects on his desk. “But. In all honesty, I don’t have the greatest confidence in his abilities. He’s not as… Put together as you are and lacks a certain drive.” Imogen did not like where this was going. She didn’t need to hear anything else, “You want me to supervise him?” She asked rhetorically. The Mayor’s face lit up, his signature politician smile clear as day. “If you would be so kind as to do that for me. This is an opportunity for him to prove himself but if he shows any sign of failure, you will have to get him back on the correct path but if push comes to shove… You may have to do his duties for him. Please, keep me updated.”

At first she was disappointed, she had thought for sure she would have immunity against this whole plot - be safe from having to be in less than ideal conditions but no, this could prove to be beneficial. Her thoughts turned from being distraught to how she could spin this into her favour. She knew who her first target was going to be: Elias. He was going to be the key to her plan. Her mouth curved upward slightly as she nodded her head, “Of course, Mr. Mayor. Will that be all?”

She was dismissed soon after and began preparing everything. A cover story, her reasoning for wanting to join the trinkets, a fake last name, everything. Imogen was going undercover if anything went wrong, she had prepared for that too. There was nothing this woman hadn’t planned for. It was scary sometimes. Her arrival was nothing out of the ordinary, Imogen simply wandered in and let out a, “Hello?” to anyone who felt like answering. She did take note of the living conditions they were in. The warehouse was rusted but the inside was refurbished. Though, the living situation seemed reminiscent of a one bedroom loft rather than a shared living space. Still, the trinkets clearly had a good set up for themselves. Imogen had just wished they weren’t so far away from the main part of Manhattan, it was going to make communicating with the Mayor a challenge. She would figure it out eventually.

[chase.]

𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐬 xxxx ♛
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[ mayor’s son ] [ he/him ] [ location - trinket’s warehouse ] [ mood - hurt, exhausted, pensive ] [ 3,829 words ]

A boy tossed in his sleep; soft, almost inaudible whimpers leaving his lips. A slight sweat had formed across his brow - causing the mused hair to dampen and stick to his forehead.

Elias stared down at the untouched plate in front of him. Polished silverware held delicately as he listened to his parents, the mayor and his wife, talk about the next political problem - which presently, was the infamous Trinkets. Elias hadn’t been back in the country for very long, but he had readily agreed to his father’s plans to send him undercover. Hell, he had even just completed his last lesson with a self-defence tutor, an arrangement his mother had adamantly insisted on. The streets weren’t a place for someone with a ‘privileged’ upbringing like Elias, she had said. She wouldn’t admit it, but she was worried for him, he was her only child after all. Her maternal instincts didn’t exactly make themselves known, but on a slightly-more-than-superficial level, they were still there. Elias kept quiet as they politely conversed, but the nervousness about his ‘job’ gnawed at him, mild nausea chasing away his appetite. He wasn’t certain as to when he would have to leave - he had hoped for more time with his parents, but he was lucky to have been given the attention he had received so far. It would be ungrateful to demand more.

His eyes flickered up from the plate of uneaten food when he heard his father breathe a harsh sigh of irritation. The older man ran his hand down his face, frown lines becoming ever-so evident as he sneered. “Everything I do for this god-forsaken city, and this is the thanks I get?” He muttered. His wife went to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, which he angrily swatted away. “I don’t know what to do, we should have snuffed this flame out the moment it sparked - it’s spreading like a disease for god’s sake!” If Elias had known his father a little better, it might have prevented the words he spoke next. “Would it be simpler to give the Trinket’s some of their demands, perhaps calm them a bit?” He mused absentmindedly, trying to be helpful. “Oh, you naive child!” His mother scolded immediately, turning her accusing gaze to him. Meanwhile, the mayor had set his own cutlery down, “What did you just say to me boy?” His voice had dropped low, almost guttural. Elias silently put his fork down onto the placemat, “I just thought-“ he tried pitifully to backtrack, only getting a few words out before his father cut him off. “Are you afraid of them boy, are you worried?”. Elias hesitated to answer. A mistake. “I did not raise a coward, and we will NOT give in to these ridiculous demands of theirs!” The mayor continued, face starting to adopt a more crimson tone in his anger. In a single moment of stupidity, Elias stubbornly raised his chin, “You didn’t really raise me.” He impulsively muttered, before his face blanched as his common sense caught up to his actions. Elias flinched hard when his father knocked his chair down, leaping to his feet. “You spiteful child!” He yelled, eyes ablaze with unbridled fury. He strode towards Elias, who had jumped out of his own place at the table, and was quickly retreating - sensing he had made a dire mistake. “You know, it’s about time you make yourself useful - the press will still be outside at this hour, parasites that they are!” He growled, grabbing Elias roughly by his scarf. “Woah, woah father! father!” He yelped, “We haven’t even discussed the plan in detail yet!” The mayor didn’t care to listen to his reasons, and his mother just watched the ordeal - no discernible emotion on her face. “What are you doing?” He tried again, shoes scuffing the floorboards as he was dragged from the dining room to the hallway, heading towards the front door. Elias desperately snatched his satchel off the floor as he was hauled past. His pulse spiked as he started to piece together what his father was about to do. “Now? Right now? You can’t be serious, I’m nowhere near ready! Hell you’ve barely told me anything!”, his pleas fell on deaf ears and only served to make his father angrier with his insolence. “Dad please!” He begged one last time. Nothing.

With one hand on Elias’ scarf, the other yanked at the door handle; sending the door flying open and crashing into the adjacent wall. The resulting ‘BANG!’ alerted the pedestrians in the street outside, members of the press turning to look at the commotion - cameras instinctually at the ready. No going back now. Elias’ stomach started forming knots, his heart rate lurching as he realised he was now on display to the public, like a caged lion at a circus. A regal and dignified creature being reduced to nothing but mere spectacle. His cheeks tinged red, flushing with embarrassment. He didn’t have the time to think about his situation, as he was unceremoniously thrown across the pavement. Elias stumbled, but ultimately failed to stay on his feet. The abrasive ground tore at his clothes, and he felt the dull sting of grazes as his knees skinned. “If you like them so much, then go and join them!” Shocked gasps escaped the majority of the onlookers as they registered the situation, and Elias squinted as the cameras flashed - trying to peer up at his father.

“You-” His father began, jabbing his index finger aggressively in his son’s direction. “-are a disgrace! You put shame on the family name!” Elias choked back a retort, but his father had barely begun. “Everything I’ve done for you! I gave you the best money could buy! And this, this, is how you repay my kindness?” The press had stopped murmuring, too engrossed in the argument. “Haven’t I given enough?” Elias shouted back, voice breaking but finally having snapped out of his daze. “Have I not given you anything you have ever asked of me?” The curly-haired brunette propped himself up on his forearms, still partially sprawled on the ground. Watery green eyes glared stubbornly up at the mayor, nostrils flaring in anger. ‘It’s just an act’, he told himself, desperately trying to scrape his dignity together, to give this circus show some much-needed logic. ‘This is for the good of the family.’

“Given me anything? The only thing you have given me has been a lifetime of problems and regret!” He roared, “Why couldn’t you have been more like the darling Miss Lacroix! She has been excellent! A tremendous young lady who is a credit to herself! You know what Elias, I wish she was my child instead of you.” That did it. At the mention of Imogen, a constant comparison in his household, he inhaled harshly. Thick tears pooled at the corner of his eyes, making his vision slightly hazy as he gritted his teeth and tried desperately to keep them at bay. “You are no son of mine!” Tears fell, salty water splashed against pavement in rapid succession. “You never have been!” It’s an act. It’s an act. It’s for the press. “Sending you away was the only thing I did correctly! You are not welcome here anymore, you best hope those rats take pity on you boy! These streets will eat you alive!” It’s a good act. A very good act. “You are just a pathetic waste of resources, I’m ashamed I ever called you my son.” Elias choked back a sob, throat clenching as it became harder to breathe. A crowd had long since gathered around them now, and the mayor, apparently satisfied with their little show, turned his back and retreated into the safety of his house.

Elias swallowed thickly, his breaths laboured and painful. Dear lord, did his father really have to do him like that? The dramatics were excessive, and Elias hadn’t even been given further directions on his job. The excited shouts from the audience brought him back to the present - oh right. His cheeks burned with shame, and he scrambled to his feet, grasping his dirtied satchel on the way. Next he turned on his heel, barging impolitely through the crowd of people who had flocked to see the drama involving the mayor. He brought a hand up to his neck, and grabbed a fistful of his scarf; pulling the material to give him some slack as he felt light bruises begin to form. As soon as he made it past the last person, he broke out into a sprint. Fleeing like a hare from the ravenous hounds, disappearing down the street.

An angelic orange light had cast over the city, the sun shying away from the situation as it set. The English-raised boy had run for what felt like hours; sweat sticking to him like a second skin. He paused occasionally, only to catch his breath and try soothe the burning sensation of his chest - lungs not used to this level of exertion. He had no particular destination in mind, he knew of the area the Trinket’s usually resided in, but he hadn’t been briefed on exactly where they were holed up at. Elias slowed to a walk, legs burning and ribcage sore. ‘What the hell, do I do now?’. He wandered the streets aimlessly, trying to come up with a plan. There was no time to dwell on the theatrics of earlier, the plan had started and as jarring as it had been, there was nothing that could be done about it now. The next step was to find the gang, “Which might have been easier if father had just been a little more patient, and given me a little more information.” He muttered irritatedly - a bit miffed at the irrationality of the whole situation now he had been given the time to calm down. He shook his head, thinking about the events that conspired earlier was only going to needlessly upset him. Looking up at the sky, he noticed how the remaining light of the sunset was starting to run on fumes, and he had no place to sleep tonight. Clenching his jaw, he set off in the direction of the more.. underfunded and rather lacking areas.

The chill of the night had started to bite at him, his forest green scarf didn’t offer much protection - it was thin, expensive and more for decoration, but it was better than nothing. At least that’s what he told himself as he shoved his icy hands into the pockets of his jacket - yet another overpriced and rather impractical piece of clothing. His worn-out satchel had begun to feel like it was actively burning a hole through his shoulder, causing a dull ache. Elias had been out alone for hours upon hours by now, and he was beyond exhausted; both mentally and physically. He wasn’t sure where he was - only that he was hilariously and hopelessly out of place. He had been on edge for a few streets, an awful feeling of dread starting to chip away at him, and he turned around occasionally, only to find nothing. Bright neon lights flickered from a scattered patch of shops, casting the street in a mix of blues and reds. Apparently the electricity grid wasn’t good enough to even keep them on constantly, and Elias paused to look at how they wearily blinked every few seconds. A shadow interrupted the flashes and Elias whirled round, satchel thumping loudly against his side. “Who’s there?” He called, wincing at how raw his voice sounded from earlier. The shadows split apart; merging into multiple silhouettes - and to his absolute horror, a few started to chuckle.

“Well, well, well, it really is the mayor’s whelp!” Elias staggered back, one hand clenched around the strap of his bag. His knuckles turned a ghostly shade of white, and he squinted to get a better look at the group approaching him. “The mayor’s a tight man, but I think he’ll pay a pretty penny for you, pretty boy.” One of them called mockingly. Elias failed to restrain a scoff, “I sincerely doubt that, trust me, I’m not worth it.” He replied steadily, faux confidence starting to replace the weaker tone. The group came into view, and Elias immediately came to the resolution that his self defence lessons would be absolutely beyond pointless in these streets, especially against a pack like these strangers. “Eh, you’ve probably got something worthwhile in that fancy little bag of yours, how ‘bouts you hand it over here and we’ll only break one arm?” The supposed ringleader responded easily, still approaching at a steady pace. Blood-shot eyes squinted at them, and Elias chewed on his next words, very slowly retreating - almost afraid that any sudden movement would set the boys off like a red flag to a bull. “I’m, uh-” the ‘ringleader’ had just come close enough for Elias to get a better look at him in the poorly lit street. An ugly, thick scar covered one side of his jaw, clothes dirty with stains he couldn’t identify in the mismatched light, and a crowbar hanging casually in one hand. “Oh, absolutely not-” his prior concerns about setting the group off with sudden movements went out of the window - and he did the only thing he’d done today - fled.

Immediately the group gave chase; Elias once again a hare desperately fleeing the hounds. Leers of excitement erupted from behind him - the dogs clearly overjoyed with the thrill of the hunt. The lithe boy ran, horrified by the brutality of the group. It was one thing to be angry with him for his father’s actions, but enjoying running him down like it was some sport? That was barbaric. The pounding of his heart filled his ears, his throat burning and cracking as it turned dry from the heavy breathing, and his muscles pleading for more oxygen. Buildings passed by in a blur, and Elias became terrified of the thought that they were pacing themselves. Christ, if he didn’t know any better, it almost seemed like they were trying to prolong their ‘fun’. He was knackered from all the running, they should have caught up by now, right? Thankfully a cloudless night sky had given way for the moon to help illuminate the streets a bit better, and as Elias ran past a shop, he desperately searched the reflection in the glass for a clue as to what was going on behind him. Not being willing to turn his own head around in fear that they were breathing down his neck. They had seemed to become almost hesitant? Still hot on his heels, but no longer shouting insults or threats. Their pace slowed, as did his - going from a flat out sprint to a panicked, hasty jog. If Elias didn’t know better, they seemed to become.. timid? Similar to how coyotes know when they’ve chased their prey into a wolf’s territory. Hushed voices bickered behind him, but the boy could only make out certain words.. he couldn’t be hearing it right, they did not just mention the word bear? What the absolute hell, there were no bears in Manhattan for crying out loud. In his stupor he almost turned around to ask them to elaborate. Now they were arguing about a ‘pair of them?’. Oh dear god have mercy on his soul, who’s them? Roman? Who’s Roman? Fox? Oh, a fox sounds okay. Elias kept running, hearing a few more rather concerning words in-between desperate wheezes. Lord help him, he was going to have an aneurysm from the stress if he heard the word ‘bear’ once more.

So caught up in his thoughts, he failed to realise that he was fast approaching yet another stranger - and the boys behind him skidded to a halt, kicking loose debris into the air from the poorly maintained road. As soon as he registered the lack of footsteps, he also stopped - sparing a quick glance at the newcomer to make sure he wasn’t actively about to be mugged. Luckily, the man seemed uninterested in Elias, and more focused on the group at his heels. He didn’t hear the conversation - instead he looked away and in a rather unbecoming moment, threw up on the pavement, the exhaustion and anxiety having pushed his body to its limit. Now his throat really burned, the awful raw sensation of stomach acid having nailed the final hammer in the coffin.

The next section became a blur, he was led by the strange man away from the group. He spared them a cautious glance, but they seemed to have finally relented to the chase, and had given their prey to someone else. He watched them scamper away, clearly uncomfortable with being in the area. If he was in a different state, he might’ve protested more to being herded somewhere - but at this point Elias knew he wouldn’t outrun another group or fight his way out. If he was being taken somewhere to be slaughtered like cattle, then so be it. The fight had been beaten out of him today, and he followed slowly after the taller man - staggering as he struggled to keep up, with a black fog slowly wrapping around the edges of his vision.

Elias woke with a start, his eyes snapped open and he lurched forward with such urgency that he almost hit the solid brick wall he had been sleeping against. His mind reeled for a few moments and his eyebrows furrowed as he tried desperately to pull his memory together. A nightmare. Or more accurately, a dream reminding him of the last eighteen hours or so. What happened after the strange man appeared? Hell, he needed to get his bearings. It was cold, and Elias winced as he slapped his hands on the ground around him - only to find the chill of the floor stung the skin of his already frozen palms. He groaned as he stretched his back, and he breathed a slight sigh of relief as his fingers found what he was desperately looking for - his satchel. Brown leather gave him some crude sense of comfort, and he held it tightly to his chest, taking a couple of minutes to steady his breathing and straighten his thoughts out.

A sound akin to that of a mountain rumbling helped ground him some, and he looked up - the noise was coming from somewhere that seemed almost above him? “Oh.” he realised dumbly. There was an elevated platform of sorts in the building. God, he really was out of it, wasn’t he? Elias rubbed at his eyes, whimpering gently as his frigid hand came into contact with the skin that was raw from crying. He propped himself up, barely concealing a cry of pain as he realised the muscle in his legs were aching, obviously protesting the events of yesterday. Or was that earlier? He had no way of telling the time, it was near enough pitch black in the building, and he was most certainly not used to seeing in the dark. The rumblings from above him continued - and he peered up into the darkness, ‘The hell is that?’ He thought numbly. With his heart rate finally coming down, he held his breath to listen more intently. Concealed under the god-awful noise of someone snoring, he could hear various fidgeting noises and rustlings - of multiple people. Oh, right. The Trinkets. The stranger from yesterday had taken him right where he needed to be, into the lion's den. A sigh of disbelief loosed from his lips, emotions hitting him all at once. He groaned in irritation, and dramatically flopped backwards onto his mattress - only to clamp his teeth onto his bottom lip to conceal the shriek of pain that tore through him - he actually just slammed his spine back onto the hard floor. Right, he had no mattress, he was in fact with the mongrels of the city.

The snoring from above him had ceased, and Elias held his breath as he listened to the sounds of movement. Stairs creaked as someone padded down them, footsteps heavy and unashamed. Thankfully, it was still dark so the stranger didn’t notice the poor disowned boy in the corner. Eli’s frame remained rigid, much like a deer in the headlights, the fact he couldn’t see what was going on only heightening his nerves. The sound of a mattress creaking, followed by a soft grunt as someone collapsed on it. It only took a few minutes, but as soon as the snoring resumed Elias deflated, finally breathing steadily once more. He hummed soundlessly, almost trying to soothe himself. Fingers leafing through his satchel as he tried to work out what he had to work with - he hadn’t exactly expected to be thrown out, so his preparation left much to be desired. His attention was quickly diverted as he felt the cover of a familiar book - White Fang. Elias gently pulled it out of his satchel, settling to rifle through it properly later.

The light of dawn had started to peak through the windows, it wasn’t much - but it was enough for a particularly desperate boy. “Better than nothing.” He murmured to himself, gently caressing the cracked spine of the novel - cover curling at the corners from years of being read, and loved. It wasn’t his first choice of book - but he had decided to reread it out of sentiment a day or so prior, so it just so happened to be the one in his satchel. Despite how cold he was, he chose to shrug off his jacket - revealing a rather pretentious vest atop a plain white shirt. Noises of the inhabitants starting to rouse made him uneasy, but there was nothing he could do about it. Instead he settled for opening the book, opting to read in silence. He’d deal with the people when they approached him, but for now he settled for easing his anxieties with the familiar activity. He’d compose himself over the next few hours, but right now he needed time to settle. Elias refused to make eye contact with anyone, instead sticking very firmly in his shadowy little corner and ignoring the various strays as they got up and started to go about their morning. It was painfully obvious to him how much he was lacking in composure, his eyes likely red-rimmed from tears - posture hunched slightly as he tried to gentle the hunger cramps. Sleep had evaded him for the most part, so he was sure the areas under his eyes would start to rival a racooon’s. Overall it made him feel very self-conscious. ‘It helps with the story’ He told himself, ‘It’s for the best if I look like a state.’

[ inventory : book, satchel - tbd ]

[ tags ; closed —> fox/layne ] [ mentions ; imogen, bear, fox, roman, aleko ]

[huskybaer.]

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