<Name:/> Marsha L. Keane-Wilson
<Nickname(s):/> M.K, Marsh, the Tyro (the title reserved for the husband or wife of the current Librarian)

<Gender:/> cis-gendered female
<Age:/> 26

<Occupation:/> Flannery’s night shift manager/wife to the current leader of the Library (and believe her, it’s a job)
<District:/> 12

<Height:/> 5’5”
<Weight:/> 125

<Appearance:/>

<Personality:/> This is what D12 sees: She knows how to compliment you. It’s particular to you and you know because she stumbles a bit over her words when she says it. You like her smile. It comes with the compliments. She looks at you when you talk. Leans in when you slip up and admit some of your woes. Then, you keep talking and she nods her head, asks a question, and soon enough you got it all out and she knows. But then, she surprises you and shares something about herself you didn’t expect. You compliment her. Marsh smiles. You can see she doesn’t believe you. Now, you’re just confused.

This is what Marsh sees: She knows she’s intelligent. Knows it because references from books come up easily in her mind and that she draws connections faster than those around her. She knows she’s charismatic. Working as long as she has at Flannery’s and with the types of tips she pulls in, she has that touch of something else with her that helps pull in customers, and their money, into her pocket. Of course, it’s not that way with everyone. It’s not like one way is the only way. She enjoys getting to know a person so that she can learn what makes them smile or tell their secret.

But for as passionate as she is when she sings or how she likes a good argument, she’s got image issues. Oh, she eats food and enjoys her pleasures, but festering in her stomach are the insecurities of years in a bad marriage and her parent’s pressures. (“You’re chubby. Look at that roll in your stomach.” “Your voices cracked when you sang. How ugly.” “You’re awkward in bed.” “You should have tried better, done more.” “It’s not enough.” “Give more. More. Moremoremore.”) Weeks stack on top of each other where it boils there until it’s hard and it comes up and out. She shuts herself off. No books. Just a blanket and bed and one song played over and over again. Some spells are short. Some are long. Sometimes, at their worst, she’ll find the tallest building, go to the roof, and thinks about nothing and how nice nothing would be because she can’t numb herself to this world around her. No matter how much she tries.

She knows she’s an absolute romantic. She hates it. The dreams, the desires, the curling passion under her skin. But it’s that thought of maybe, just maybe, that has her stepping away from that edge before bringing her back again.

<Biography:/> Marsh was raised by two high ranking women within the Library, D12’s gang. Momma taught her how to sing Bobby Sands poetry and the Clash and Led Zeppelin. Mum read bedtime stories from Alexander Berkman’s autobiography or Benjamin Franklin’s satirical papers on British rule in the colonies. She knows her initials (MLK) were a half-joke from her parents and the other half is full expectations. She learned about Milk and Seneca Falls before she read about them.

She was never allowed to actually touch the books. She wasn’t fully initiated. By the second time she was scolded for handling a book, she knew she wanted to have the title Bookie. What she didn’t know was that everything, everything, was carefully put together so that she would meet Francis Wilson, the current Librarian.

They met at Flannery’s. Not much of a surprise. Marsh had been working in the kitchens since she was thirteen and then as a waitress after she turned seventeen. And that’s when he first flirted with her and slapped her ass. She was honored because he was the Librarian. So when he asked her to marry him two years later, she said. Yes, of course yes. The guy who had all the books and music at his finger tips. Who had the respect of dozens of Librarians behind him. Then, came the drugs. Then, came the rape. Then, came the stillborn. Then, came her Mum’s death and Momma’s confession that they always wanted M.K to marry Francis. We did this for you, they said. After all that talk of independence and revolution, too. The books, the songs, the poetry, it has a whole new meaning. Or maybe, it’s more like she realized the true meaning of Tim O’Brein’s book The Things They Carried.

Francis Wilson isn’t just a bad husband, though, he’s a bad Librarian. So it falls to the Tyro to maintain the reputation of the Library. She knows about the pole out in the community as to when she’ll off Francis, but she’ll bide her time until he’s killed. It’ll cause less strife within D12. With how often he travels into other districts, someone’s gonna be stupid enough to kill him. It won’t be one of the other gangs, though, no they don’t want someone like her in power of such an old gang. She honestly doesn’t care about them. They have free will that they are exerting and it’s not her responsibility to deal with them or keep them in line. New Ancora and the government, well, that’s something she wants to tear down.

<Other:/>
M.K thinks the splotchy birthmark on her back sexy and her most attractive feature.

She enjoys sex with men and women. She not sure who she prefers in a romantic relationship. She hasn’t had the chance to find out.